1 


LIBRARY 


University  of  CalifoPxNia. 

CSS     #^ 


FEANZ  GRILLPAEZER 

AND  THE 

AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 


GKILLPAKZEK  IN  OLD  AGE 


FRANZ  GRILLPARZER 

AND   THE 

AUSTRIAN   DRAMA 

BY 

GUSTAV    POLLAK 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 

1907 


OEHEHAL 


COPTBIOHT,  1907 

By  GUSTAV  POLLAK 
PubliBhed  November,  1907 


Tr. 


TO  THE  MEMORYv  OF  MY  PARENTS 
WHO    SLEEP    IN   AUSTRIAN    SOIL 


17304:? 


CONTENTS 

Chapteb  I.     The  Vienna  Stage  in  the  Days  of 

Metternich  :  Ferdinand  Raimund    .      .      .      1-14 

Vienna  society  in  the  first  decades  of  the  nine- 
teenth century. — The  beginnings  of  Kaimund's 
career. — His  first  fairy  plays. — Kaimund's  master- 
pieces :  "The  Peasant  as  Millionaire,"  "The  Mountain 
King  and  the  Misanthrope,"  and  "The  Spend- 
thrift."— Raimund's  personal  traits. — His  disappoint- 
ments and  his  death. 

Chapter  II.     The  Peasant  Drama  in  Austria: 

LuDwiG  Anzengruber 16-29 

"Der  Pfarrer  von  Kirchfeld." — Its  literary  and 
political  significance. — Anzengruber's  early  years. — 
His  life  as  a  strolling  actor. — Peasant  life  as  depicted 
in  his  dramas  and  tales. — "The  Perjured  Country- 
man," "The  Cross  Signers,"  "Village  Rambles,"  and 
"Der  Sternsteinhof." — The  troubled  close  of  Anzen- 
gruber's  life. 

Chapter  III.  Grillparzer^s  Early  Years  .  30-49 
A  summary  of  public  opinion  concerning  the 
poet. — Former  indifference  of  Germany  toward  Aus- 
trians. — Preserved  records  of  Grillparzer's  life. — ^His 
parentage. — The  atmosphere  of  his  childhood. — His 
early  interest  in  the  theatre. — Student  days  at  the 
gymnasium  and  the  university. — Patriotic  stirrings. — 
His  first  political  poem. — A  youthful  drama :  "Blanka 
von     Kastilien."— College     friendships.— The     first 


viii  CONTENTS 

pangs  of  love.— Study  of  music. — His  father's  ill- 
health  and  death.— Years  of  poverty. — His  experi- 
ences as  tutor.— Study  of  English. — Illness  and  neg- 
lect.— An  apprenticeship  at  the  Imperial  Library. — 
Ways  of  Vienna  officials. — The  study  of  Spanish 
literature. — The  fate  of  his  translation  of  Calderon. 


Chapter  IV.  Die  Ahnfkau 50-58 

First  meeting  with  the  director  of  the  Burg- 
theater. — Schreyvogel's  encouragement. — Grillparzer 
enters  the  government  service. — The  circumstances 
under  which  "Die  Ahnfrau"  was  written. — The  first 
I)erformance  and  Grillparzer's  feelings. — Pecuniary 
results  of  his  dramatic  success. — ^Public  opinion  con- 
cerning "Die  Ahnfrau." — The  plot  of  the  play. — Its 
subsequent  fate. 

."^ 

Chapteb  v.     Sappho 


& 


Origin  of  the  play. — Grillparzer's  metho^ 
writing. — Synopsis  of  "Sappho." — The  poet's  fond- 
ness for  the  play. — ^Lord  Byron's  admiration  of 
"Sappho." — German  criticasters. — Modern  criti- 
cism.— Kesemblances  between  "Sappho"  and  "Tasso." 

Chapter  VI.  Das  Goldene  Vliess  .  .  .  Y5-108 
Grillparzer's  growing  fame. — His  appointment  as 
dramatic  writer  to  the  Burgtheater. — A  disagreeable 
change  in  his  official  position. — Origin  of  "Das 
goldene  Vliess." — Death  of  his  mother. — His  sorrow 
and  dejection. — A  journey  to  Italy. — Court  favors  in 
Rome. — A  meeting  with  Metternich. — Tribulations  in 
office  after  his  return. — The  emi)eror's  displeasure 
with  one  of  his  poems. — Grillparzer's  manly  de- 
fence.— He  resumes  work  on  the  trilogy. — The  first 


CONTEXTS 

performance  of  "Das  goldene  Vliess"  and  its  suc- 
cess.— Synopsis  of  the  trilogy. — The  opinion  of  an 
American  student  of  Grillparzer. — A  comparison  be- 
tween Corneille  and  Grillparzer. 


IX 


Chapter    YII.     Konig    Ottokaes    Gltjck    unju 


Ende /-r  109-221  ^, 

Grillparzer's  account  of  the  origin  of  the  drai 
Resemblances  between  Ottokar  and  Napoleon. — The 
Frohlich  sisters. — Katharina's  charm. — Schubert  as 
guest  at  the  house  of  the  Frohlichs. — Grillparzer  re- 
signs his  position  at  the  Burgtheater. — His  relations 
with  Count  Stadion. — Disappearance  of  the  manu- 
script of  "Ottokar." — Grillparzer's  description  of 
Baron  Gentz,  Metternich's  secretary. — Recovery  of 
the  manuscript. — Stupidity  of  the  censor's  bureau. — 
First  performance  of  "Konig  Ottokars  Gliick  und 
Ende." — Synopsis  of  the  play. — The  experiences  of 
the  author. 

Chapter  VIII.  Grillparzer's  Visit  in  Weimar  222-233 

Literary  celebrities  of  Dresden  and  Berlin. — Grill- 
parzer's impressions  of  Rahel. — Contrast  between 
Berlin  and  Vienna. — First  evening  at  Goethe's  home. 
— ^A  visit  to  Schiller's  house. — A  dinner  with 
Goethe.  —  Goethe's  i)ersonal  appearance  and  de- 
meanor.— Grillparzer's  reasons  for  not  revisiting 
Goethe. — A  meeting  with  the  grand  duke. — Goethe's 
impressions  of  Grillparzer. 

Chapter  IX.  'Em  Treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn  234-248 

Grillparzer  is  asked  to  write  a  play  for  the  corona- 
tion of  the  empress. — The  story  of  Bankban  in  liter- 
ature.— A  curious  interview  with  the  president  of  the 
police. — Synopsis  of  the  play. — Critical  objections  to 


X                                  CONTENTS  J 

the  spirit   of  "Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn."—  j 

Grillparzer's  definition  of  his  ideal  of  duty. — The  in-  I 

fluence  of  Lope  de  Vega  on  "Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  1 

Herrn.'^ — The  reception  of  the   play. — Grillparzer's  ^ 

dissatisfaction  with  his  work. — His  mental  depres-  | 

sion.  i 

Chapter  X.     Official  PERSECUTioisr  .      .      .     249-252 

Attitude  of  the  new  minister  of  finance  toward  the  \ 
poet. — Grillparzer  as  a  member  of  a  society  of  literary  \ 
men  and  artists. — His  arrest  by  the  police. — The  fate  ] 
of  his  poem  in  honor  of  the  crown  prince. — ^Wilful  i 
misrepresentation  of  Grillparzer's  motives. — An  audi- 
ence with  the  emperor.  ) 

Chapter    XI.     Des    Meeres    und    der    Liebe      >V  ^ 

Wellen 253-275 

Grillparzer  returns  to  classic  themes. — First  per-  j 

formance  of  "Des  Meeres  und  der  Liebe  Wellen." —  | 

Synopsis  of  the  play. — Resemblances  between  Grill-  i 

parzer  and  Racine.— A  personal  experience  utilized  J 

in  the  drama. — Other  autobiographic  touches.  | 

i 

i 

Chapter  XII.     Grillparzer  and  His  Friends  2Y6-283  l 

Disappointments   of   his   official   career. — His   ap-  | 

plication  for  the  place  of  Director  of  Archives. — His  I 
work  in  the  new  position. — Practical  severance  of  his 
relations  with  the  Burgtheater. — Katharina  Frohlich 

no  longer  Grillparzer's  fiancee. — His  explanation  of  t 
the    rupture. — Katharina's    character. — Grillparzer's 

poem  describing  their  mutual  affection  and  antago-  j 

nism. — The  circle  of  his  literary  friends. — Eduard  von  1 

Bauernfeld. — Heinrich  Laube's  description  of  a  liter-  1 

ary  gathering  at  the  "Star." — Grillparzer's  personal  ] 

appearance.— A  happy  period  in  Grillparzer's  life.  i 

i 


CONTENTS  li 

Chaptee  XIII.     Dee  Teaum  Em  Lebeit  .      .     284-286 
Complete  success  of  the  play.— The  origin  of  the 
drama. — Voltaire's  story  as  a  groundwork. — Synopsis 
of  "Der  Traum  ein  Leben." — The  poet's  misgivings 
as  to  its  plot. 

Chaptee  XIV.     Teavels  ii^  Feance  and  Eng- 
land   287-290 

Grillparzer's  attitude  toward  critics. — ^A  journal- 
istic encounter  with  M.  G.  Saphir. — Literary  condi- 
tions in  Austria  under  the  Emperor  Ferdinand. — A 
journey  to  Paris. — First  impressions. — Acquaintance 
with  Dumas  and  Meyerbeer. — A  visit  at  Heine's 
lodgings. — An  evening  with  Heine  at  the  house  of 
Rothschild. — Rossini  as  a  guest. — Parliamentary  im- 
pressions in  London. — Contrast  between  the  judicial 
methods  of  France  and  England. — A  meeting  with 
Uhland  in  Stuttgart.  —  Distressing  news  from 
Vienna. 


Chaptee  XV.     Weh  Dem^  dee  Lugt  .      .  (  .     291-319 


A  tragic  family  incident. — Grillparzer's  choice  o?  a 
new  dramatic  subject. — The  poet's  humorous  and 
satirical  vein. — His  epigrams. — Synopsis  of  "Weh 
dem,  der  liigt." — Failure  of  the  comedy. — Attitude  of 
the  public  and  the  critics. — Grillparzer's  mortifica- 
tion and  resentment. — His  resolve  to  abandon  writing 
for  the  stage. — Years  of  literary  seclusion. — Ger- 
many's neglect  of  his  plays. — The  poet  turns  to 
music. — Poems  addressed  to  famous  artists. — Con- 
tinued work  on  dramas. — Performance  of  the  first 
act  of  "Libussa." — A  journey  to  Greece. — Grillpar- 
zer's Oriental  diary. — Unpleasant  experiences  in 
Greece. — The  Countess  Hahn-Hahn  on  Grillparzer. — 


xii  CONTENTS 

Vienna's  growing  appreciation  of  the  poet. — Grill- 
parzer  applies  for  the  position  of  chief  librarian  of 
the  imperial  library. — Appointment  of  "Friedrich 
Halm." — Grillparzer's  deep  mortification. — Public 
opinion  on  the  government's  action. — Grillparzer's 
participation  in  public  affairs. 


Chapter  XVI.     Gkillparzer  ai^d  the  Eevoltj- 

TiON  OF  1848 320-332 

His  reminiscences  of  the  revolution. — The  political 
condition  of  Austria  preceding  the  outbreak. — The 
old  regime  under  Emperor  Francis. — His  treatment 
of  Hungary. — Metternich's  policy. — Police  laws  in 
theory  and  practice. — Count  Sedlnitzky,  the  president 
of  the  police. — The  position  of  literary  men  in  the 
empire. — The  founding  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences. 
— Grillparzer's  proposal  to  keep  out  poets. — The 
bloody  insurrection  in  Galicia  a  reason  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  Academy. — Grillparzer  a  witness  of 
the  opening  scenes  of  the  revolution. — The  dismissal 
of  Metternich. — Behavior  of  the  people. — Why  Grill- 
parzer remained  passive. — A  warning  poem  and  its 
reception. — Grillparzer  as  a  political  observer. — His 
estimate  of  Metternich  in  prose  and  verse. — Grill- 
parzer's political  arraignment  of  Germany. — His  ad- 
miration of  her  intellectual  traits. — Professor  Volkelt's 
explanation  of  the  mutual  misunderstandings  be- 
tween the  poet  and  his  German  critics. — The  sensa- 
tion caused  by  Grillparzer's  poem  to  Fieldmarshal 
Radetzky. — Grillparzer  is  honored  by  the  army  and 
the  court. — Public  opinion  concerning  the  poem. — 
Grillparzer's  indifference  to  praise  and  censure. — He 
takes  up  his  abode  with  the  Frohlichs. — His  story 
"Dep  arme  Spielmann." — "Das  Kloster  bei  Sendo- 
mir." 


CONTENTS  xiii 

Chapteb  XVII.     Esther 333-350 

Laube's  success  in  reviving  Grillparzer's  fame. — 
Enthusiasm  aroused  by  the  performance  of  his  plays. 
—The  reception  of  "Esther."— The  plaudits  of  Ger- 
many.— Synopsis  of  "Esther." — Conjectures  as  to 
Grillparzer's  reasons  for  leaving  the  play  unfin- 
ished.— The  poet's  retirement  from  government 
service. — Festivities  in  his  honor. — His  indifference 
to  public  demonstrations. — Francis  Joseph  calls 
Grillparzer  to  the  Austrian  House  of  Peers. — Con- 
scientious discharge  of  his  duties. — Dramatic  scene 
on  the  occasion  of  his  voting  for  the  abolition  of  the 
Concordat. — The  celebration  of  his  eightieth  birth- 
day.— Grillparzer's  modesty. — His  declining  years. — 
Devotion  of  the  Frohlich  sisters. — A  scene  in  his 
home. — Description  of  the  Frohlichs. — Their  ideal- 
ism and  artistic  nature. — Grillparzer's  death. — 
Katharina  Frohlich  his  sole  heir. — Her  endowment  of 
the  Grillparzer  Fund. 

Chapter  XVIII.     Libussa 351-360 

Origin  and  sources  of  the  play. — ^Its  reception  by 
the  public. — A  critic's  impression. — Synopsis  of 
"Libussa." — Its  depth  of  thought. — Passages  concern- 
ing social  and  philosophic  problems. — Contrast  be- 
tween the  ideals  of  Rousseau  and  the  demands  of 
reality. 

Chapter  XIX.     Die  Judin  von  Toledo  .      .     361-378 
Adaptation  of  a  play  by  Lope  de  Vega.— Contrast- 
ing   characters.  —  Synopsis    of     "Die    Jiidin    von 
Toledo." — Strange  termination  of  the  play. 

Chapter  XX.     Ein  Bbuderzwist  in  Habsburg  379-400 
Significance  of  the  play. — Conditions  under  which 
it  was  written, — Synopsis  of   "Ein  Bruderzwist  in 


xiv  CONTENTS 

Habsburg."— Grillparzer's  knowledge  of  the  Haps- 
burg  dynasty. — Eesemblances  between  Grillparzer's 
drama  and  Schiller's  "Wallenstein." 


Chapter   XXI.     Geillpaezer^s    Miscellaneous  I 

Writings 401-417      ] 

His  lyric  productions. — Pathos  of  "Der  Bann"  and  1 
"Tristia  Ex  Ponto."— "The  Kuins  of  Campo  Vac- 

cino." — Prose  essays  and  aphorisms. — His  study  of  \ 

the    Greek    dramatists. — Notes    on    Spanish    play-  - 
Wrights. — His    admiration   for   Lope   de   Vega    and 

Calderon. — Grillparzer  on  Shakespeare. — His  analy-  ; 
sis    of    "Macbeth." — A    criticism    of    "Komeo    and 
Juliet."  —  Grillparzer's     study     of     other     English 

writers. — His    opinion    of    Swift. — Grillparzer's    ad-  s 

miration  of  Racine. — His  characterization  of  Moliere.  j 

— An  analysis  of  Rousseau's  character. — Notes   on  j 

other     French     writers^ — Grillparzer's     interest     in  t 

Italian   literature. — His   admiration   of   the   age   of  } 

the  Medici. — Grillparzer's  thoughts  on  philosophical  | 

subjects. — His   relations   with    Hegel. — A     meeting  1 

with    the    philosopher. — Grillparzer's    summary    of  i 

Hegel's  teachings. — His  protest  against  the  methods  i 

of     literary     historians. — Grillparzer's     ridicule     of  ] 

"Teutomania." — His  intellectual  independence. — ^His         ,  \ 

criticism    of   Goethe's    "Elective    Affinities." — Com-  ] 

parison  between  Schiller  and  Goethe. — Grillparzer's  I 

studies  of  his  own  works. — His  condemnation  of  "Ein  | 

Bniderzwist"  and  "Libussa."  ! 

{ 

Chapter  XXII.    Grillparzer  and  Beethoven  418-432       ' 

Grillparzer's   love   of   music. — Eduard    Hanslick's  ^ 

opinion   of  Grillparzer's  thoughts  on  musical   sub-  j 

jects. — The  poet's  admiration  of  Mozart. — Grillparzer 


CONTENTS 


XV 


and  Schubert. — His  epitaph  on  the  composer. — Grill-  i 

parzer's    "Eecollections    of    Beethoven." — His    first  j 

glimpse  of  the  composer. — Beethoven  as  a  neighbor  J 

in  the  country. — The  composer's  sentimental  attach-  1 

ment  for  a  peasant  beauty. — ^Beethoven  asks  Grill-  j 

parzer  for  a  libretto. — A  visit  at  Beethoven's  rooms. —  ; 

The   composer's   objections  to  some  of  Grillparzer's  ? 

lines. — A  visit  at  Beethoven's  country  lodgings. — An  ■ 

amusing  illustration  of  his  ignorance  of  the  ways  of  ^ 

the  world. — Grillparzer's  funeral  address  at  the  grave  * 

of    Beethoven. — The    poet's    estimate    of    the    com-  ] 

poser. — Records  of  Grillparzer's  conversations  with  \ 
Beethoven. — Grillparzer's  analysis  of  the  composer's 

art. — The  poet's  attitude  toward  Italian  and  German  i 

opera. — His  opinion  of  Rossini. — Grillparzer's  criti-  j 

cism  concerning  the  proper  functions  of  poetry  and  | 

music. — The  influence  of  music  on  his  plays. — His  ; 

methods    of    studying    music    and    counterpoint. —  ] 

Hanslick's  opinion  of  Grillparzer's  musical  produe-  ^ 

tions.  J 

i 

Chapter  XXIII.     Coi^clusioit      ....     433-440  ] 

i 

Grillparzer's  personal  charm. — A  description  of  his  i 

appearance  in  1817  by  Caroline  Pichler. — Grillparzer  ] 

and  his  female  admirers. — Charlotte  von  Paumgar-  ] 

ten,  Marie  Daffinger,  and  Marie  von  Piquot. — The  I 

poet's  lack  of  literary  decision. — His  unfinished  pro-  j 
jects. — His     remarkable     precocity. — Diversity     of 
critical  opinion  as  to  Grillparzer's  greatest  work. — 

Qualities  common  to  all  his  plays. — His  originality. —  \ 

Grillparzer's  own  claim  as  to  his  rank  in  literature.  l 


ILLUSTEATIONS 


Grillparzer  in  old  age                                        Frontispiece 

Ferdinand  Raimund                                   Facing 

page       8 

The  Anzengruber  Monument  at  Vienna       " 

26 

Sappho                                                            " 

60 

Medea 

"        76 

Konig  Ottokars  Gliick  und  Ende                " 

"      110 

Grillparzer  at  the  age  of  thirty-two             " 

"      226 

The  Grillparzer  monument  in  the 

Vienna  Volksgarten                               " 

"      348 

PREFACE 

The  present  volume  owes  its  inception  to  two  lectures 
on  "Austrian  Dramatists"  delivered  by  the  writer  at  the 
Johns  Hopkins  University,  Baltimore,  in  April,  1905. 
He  has  had  reason  to  think  that  the  subject  might  prove 
interesting  to  a  more  general  audience,  hence  the  lecture 
on  Grillparzer  has  been  expanded  into  the  dimensions  of 
a  book,  half  biography,  half  translation,  which  he  hopes 
may  serve  as  an  introduction  to  the  study  of  the  poet's 
works.  How  well  Grillparzer  deserves  and  repays  close 
study,  it  has  been  the  endeavor  of  the  writer  to  show.  He 
claims  for  his  volume  no  higher  merit  than  that  of  being, 
strange  to  say,  the  first  attempt  to  acquaint  American  and 
English  readers  with  the  dramatist  and  the  man.  The 
translations  are,  as  far  as  he  is  aware,  the  first  English 
renderings,  "Sappho"  alone  excepted,  of  any  of  the 
beauties  of  the  original.  The  measure  of  space  assigned 
to  the  various  extracts  from  Grillparzer's  plays  is  not 
intended  to  convey  the  writer's  estimate  of  their  respec- 
tive merits.  It  has,  however,  seemed  to  him  proper 
to  select  at  least  one  of  the  plays  for  somewhat  extended 
treatment.  The  play  thus  chosen,  "Konig  Ottokar's 
Gllick  und  Ende,"  one  of  the  most  characteristic  of  the 
so-called  Hapsburg  dramas  of  the  author,  will,  it  is  hoped, 
afford  the  reader  a  more  accurate  insight  into  Grill- 
parzer's  dramatic  methods  than  would  have  been  possible 
by  more  uniform  quotations  from  each  play. 


XX  PREFACE 

In  accordance  with  the  plan  of  the  book,  Grillparzer 
has  been  largely  allowed  to  speak  for  himself,  both  in 
poetry  and  prose.  The  story  of  his  life,  as  far  as  he  has 
told  it,  possesses  an  interest  which  neither  summary  nor 
comment  could  claim,  and  his  own  hand  depicts  as  could 
no  other  some  of  the  social  and  political  conditions  of  a 
bygone  age. 

The  writer  has  availed  himself  of  the  works  of  such 
authoritative  German  biographers  and  critics  of  the 
poet  as  Prof.  August  Sauer,  the  editor  of  Grillparzer's 
collected  works.  Prof.  Emil  Keich  ("Grillparzers 
Dramen"),  Prof.  Johannes  Volkelt  (/Tranz  Grillparzer 
als  Dichter  des  Tragischen"),  Adalbert  Faulhammer 
("Pranz  Grillparzer:  Eine  biographische  Studie"),  Hein- 
rich  Laube  ("Pranz  Grillparzers  Lebensgeschichte"), 
Wilhelm  Scherer  ("Pranz  Grillparzer:  Beitrage  zu 
seinem  Yerstandnisse''),  O.  E.  Lessing  ("Grillparzer  und 
das  neue  Drama"),  as  well  as  of  Prof.  Auguste  Ehrhard's 
admirable  Prench  biography:  "Le  Theatre  en  Autriche: 
Pranz  Grillparzer." 

It  is  the  writer's  hope  that  his  volume  may  make  clear 
to  an  English-speaking  audience  not  only  the  potency  of 
Grillparzer's  own  genius,  but  also  the  peculiar  fascina- 
tion inherent  in  the  work  of  two  other  authors  who  have 
shed  lustre  on  their  Austrian  fatherland.  Indeed,  not  a 
few  of  the  countrymen  of  Mozart  and  Schubert  whose 
writings  have  won  fame  throughout  German-speaking 
countries  charm  because  of  their  distinctive  national 
flavor.  German  in  speech  and  training,  they  are  yet  Aus- 
trian to  the  core.  One  writer  of  this  kind,  the  poet 
and  novelist  Kosegger,  has  captivated  the  whole  world. 


PREFACE 


m 


"Among  German  authors  now  living,"  says  a  recent 
reviewer  in  the  ]!^ew  York  Nation,  "there  is  no  man  who, 
for  simple,  wholesome  humanity,  can  compare  with  the 
Austrian,  whose  name  is  not  only  a  household  word 
in  the  humblest  homes  of  his  native  Steiermark,  but  whose 
works  are  read  throughout  the  world."  The  qualities 
which  Rosegger  possesses  in  so  eminent  a  degree,  the  sim- 
plicity, strength,  humor  and  wisdom  of  his  artless  art,  are 
characteristic  of  other  writers  of  kindred  power  sprung 
from  the  same  soil. 

Among  such  writers — true  poets  whether  in  prose  or 
verse — two  dramatists  in  particular,  unknown  to  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking world,  have  touched  the  German  heart  with 
all  the  magic  power  of  genius  —  the  one,  Ferdinand 
Raimund,  contemporaneous  with  Grillparzer,  a  writer  of 
fairy  plays ;  the  other,  Ludwig  Anzengruber,  Grillparzer' s 
immediate  successor,  a  creator  of  peasant  dramas.  A 
brief  survey  of  what  these  men  were  and  what  they  wrote 
will  not  be  deemed  out  of  place  in  a  description  of  the 
most  striking  general  characteristics  of  the  Austrian 
drama.  We  shall  more  fully  appreciate  the  peculiar 
significance  of  Franz  Grillparzer  after  glancing  at  the 
work  of  the  two  dramatists  who,  within  their  modest 
spheres,  reveal  as  clearly  as  he  the  native  genius  of 
Austrian  poetry. 


FRANZ  GRILLPARZER  AND  THE 
AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 


THE  VIENNA  STAGE  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  METTEENICH 
FERDINAND  EAIMUND 

The  literary  historians  of  Germany  have  always  drawn 
a  sharp  theoretical  distinction  between  "classic"  writers 
and  mere  "Volksdichter."  What  is  a  "Yolksdichter"  ? 
The  very  word  baffles  the  translator.  Literally,  it  means 
a  "poet  of  the  people,"  or  a  "natural"  poet,  as  we 
sometimes  say  in  English.  But  if  the  classic  poet 
be  not,  first  of  all,  a  "natural"  or  heaven-born  one,  he 
is  not  a  poet  in  any  sense.  Burns  was  a  "natural"  poet, 
if  ever  there  was  one,  yet  he  has  become  an  English 
classic  of  the  purest  water — ^nay,  one  of  the  master  spirits 
of  Goethe's  "world  literature,"  a  realm  whose  every  citizen 
is  a  king.  Ber anger,  whose  songs  have  rejoiced  genera- 
tions of  French  peasants  unable  to  read  a  line  of  them, 
is  one  of  the  glories  of  French  literature,  though  only 
a  Volksdichter  in  the  German  sense  of  the  word.  Tasso's 
melodious  stanzas  are  still  re-echoed  by  Venetian  gon- 
doliers, in  spite  of  his  unquestioned  classicalness.  An- 
dersen's blending  of  the  ideal  and  real  in  his  Fairy 
Stories,  his  inimitable  humor  and  moving  pathos,  have 
made  him  at  once  the  Volksdichter  of  his  country  and 


2      GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

one  of  the  world's  classics.  The  Hungarians  sing  Petofi's 
songs,  glowing  with  national  and  human  passions,  and 
adore  him;  whether  as  Volksdichter  or  as  classic  they  do 
not  stop  to  consider.  And  in  very  truth,  the  Germans 
themselves  refuse  to  be  guided  by  the  arbitrary  distinctions 
of  their  literary  critics,  and  have  made  of  the  Lieder  and 
ballads  of  their  greatest  poets  —  of  Goethe,  Schiller, 
Uhland  and  Heine  —  people's  songs  in  the  truest  sense, 
while  conferring  upon  more  than  one  unpretending  Volks- 
dichter an  immortality  withheld  from  many  a  classic  of 
a  bygone  generation.  Even  the  German  encyclopaedias 
admit  that  some  Austrian  Volksdichter  may  have  more 
than  local  significance.  Brockhaus  says  of  Ferdinand 
Raimund:  "He  succeeds  in  depicting  the  most  touch- 
ing as  well  as  the  gayest  scenes.  His  fancy  grasps  what 
is  dramatically  effective  at  the  same  time  that  his  eye 
penetrates  the  depths  of  the  human  heart.  He  is,  within 
the  sphere  of  the  Volksdichter,  a  genuine  poet  of  rich 
and  varied  art."  And  the  writer  in  Meyer's  "Kon- 
versations-Lexikon"  acknowledges  the  "weight  and  power" 
(Wucht  des  Inhaltes)  of  Anzengruber's  dramas,  in  which 
we  find  "the  extreme  limit  of  passion,  called  forth,  for 
the  most  part,  by  moral  and  religious  conflicts." 

Ferdinand  Raimund  was  born  in  Vienna  in  1Y90  and 
died  near  there  in  1836.  He  received  very  little  education, 
and  was  apprenticed  to  a  confectioner,  but  took  to  the  stage. 
After  unsuccessful  attempts  in  tragic  roles,  he  became,  in 
spite  of  a  natural  leaning  toward  melancholy,  a  comedian 
of  extraordinary  versatility.  His  fame  is  mostly  identified 
with  the  Vienna  Leopoldstadter  Theater,  which,  in  the 
early  decades  of  the  last  century,  enjoyed  an  uncontested 


FERDINAND  RAIMUND  3 

supremacy  among  the  minor  theatres  of  Germany.  In  the 
opinion  of  the  literary  historian,  Prof.  Karl  Goedeke,  of 
Gottingen,  it  was  the  hest  popular  stage  Germany  ever 
possessed.  The  fame  of  the  theatre  was  greatest  during 
that  period  in  the  history  of  Vienna  and  Austria  which 
came  to  a  close  in  March,  1848  —  the  era  of  Francis 
and  his  successor,  Ferdinand,  when  Prince  Metternich's 
deadening  absolutism  lay  heavily  upon  the  land.  The  far- 
famed  Vienna  "Gemiithlichkeit,"  vainly  seeking  an  outlet 
for  serious  political  thought  and  patriotic  endeavor,  found 
refuge  in  the  distractions  of  the  stage.  There,  at  least,' 
veiled  allusions  to  existing  conditions  might  be  smuggled, 
undetected  by  the  censor's  eye,  into  harmless  farces,  blood- 
curdling plays  of  mediaeval  slaughter  and  avenging  ghosts, 
or  fantastic  fairy  dramas  of  the  flimsiest  construction. 
"Vienna,"  in  the  language  of  Goedeke,  "was  then  the 
home  of  innocent  pleasantry  and  banter,  but  it  had  no 
place  for  biting  sarcasm  or  brilliant  irony  and  satire. 
There  were  present  all  the  elements  for  light  come- 
dies suited  to  the  comprehension  of  all,  and  these  simple 
wants  were  easily  supplied.  There  was  no  demand  for 
skilful  intrigue,  for  a  well-rounded  plot  carefully  executed 
in  accordance  with  dramatic  art ;  sufficient  if  a  few  scenes 
of  Vienna  life  were  represented,  or  if  some  occurrences 
in  the  wide  world  beyond  were  brought  into  contrast  with 
things  Viennese.  And  all  was  well  if  the  play  enforced 
the  moral  that,  while  the  outside  world  might  be  ever  so 
beautiful  and  enjoyable,  Vienna  was  after  all  still  more 
so,  and  that  in  any  case  there  was  no  place  like  it  under 
heaven." 

Raimund,  who  excelled  as  an  actor  in  comic  plays  of 


4      GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

this  sort,  was,  in  1823,  led  by  accident  to  try  his  hand  at 
dramatic  composition.  Herr  Meisl,  a  popular  play- 
wright of  the  conventional  order,  had  been  engaged  upon 
a  play  with  the  queer  title  of  "Der  Barometermacher  auf 
der  Zauberinsel"  (The  Barometer-maker  on  the  En- 
chanted Island),  but  could  not  get  beyond  the  first  act. 
Raimund  offered  to  finish  the  play,  and  did  so,  to  the 
utmost  satisfaction  of  the  easily  pleased  public.  "No  one, 
least  of  all  the  author  himself,  imagined  that  the  Vienna 
stage  and  German  literature  had  found  in  him  a  true 
dramatic  genius.  There  was,  indeed,  little  enough  in  the 
amusing  "Barometer-maker"  to  foretell  the  future  fame  of 
its  author.  It  is  not  worth  while  to  analyze  the  plot,  but 
its  humorous  dialogue  and  merry  couplets — one  of  which 
reminds  Goedeke  of  some  lines  in  Shakespeare's  "Tem- 
pest"— make  up  for  the  barrenness  of  the  story.  What- 
ever the  promise  of  Raimund's  first  play,  it  led  in  steady 
progression  to  three  dramatic  masterpieces  —  "Das 
Madchen  aus  der  Feenwelt,  oder  der  Bauer  als  Millionar" 
(The  Maiden  from  the  Fairy  World,  or  the  Peasant  as 
Millionaire),  "Der  Alpenkonig  und  der  Menschenfeind" 
(The  Mountain  King  and  the  Misanthrope)  and  "Der 
Verschwender"  (The  Spendthrift). 

In  attempting  to  define  to  English  readers  the  charm 
of  these  dramas,  it  may  be  of  some  service  to  point  out  a 
certain  outward  resemblance  between  the  plays  of 
Raimund  and  the  most  famous  creation  of  a  modern 
dramatist  of  widely  different  genius — Hauptmann's 
"Versunkene  Glocke"  (The  Sunken  Bell).  We  have  in 
both  Raimund  and  Hauptmann  a  curious  blending  of  real- 
ism and  romanticism,  of  actual  life  and  dreamland,  and 


FEEDINx^ND  RAIMUND  5 

in  both  the  lyric  note  is  the  most  convincing,  but  the 
resemblance  refers  mainly  to  the  eil'ect  upon  the  spectator ; 
between  their  literary  methods  there  is  as  wide  a  gulf  as 
there  is  between  the  Vienna  of  Eaimund's  time  and  the 
Berlin  of  Hauptmann's.  The  fairy  beings  of  Haupt- 
mann's  fantastic  fairy  drama  stand  for  a  deep  symbolism ; 
Kaimund's  allegorical  fairies  and  mountain  spirits  typify 
the  play  of  the  primary  emotions  of  the  human  heart,  its 
struggles  with  familiar  failings,  the  lessons  of  adversity 
and  the  ravages  of  age.  His  genial  elves  laugh  and  weep 
with  the  workaday  heroes  and  heroines  of  the  plays; 
their  talk  alternates  pleasantly  between  High-German  and 
local  dialect,  and  abounds  in  jokes  and  puns  and  allusions 
to  things  which  only  the  pure-blooded  Viennese  can  fully 
relish.  It  is  all  so  gay  and  innocent  and  simple  that 
we  often  wonder  where  the  charm  and  the  poetry  lie, 
until  we  leave  the  theatre  or  rise  from  the  reading 
moved  as  only  the  inexplicable  charm  of  true  poetry  can 
move  us. 

Kaimund's  first  play  was  followed  by  "Der  Diamant 
des  Geisterkonigs"  (The  Diamond  of  the  King  of  Celes- 
tial Spirits).  In  this  play,  which  is  founded  on  one  of  the 
stories  of  the  "Arabian  JSTights,"  the  farcical  and 
burlesque  elements  still  predominate,  but  as  if  to  test  the 
capacity  of  the  public  for  better  things,  supernatural 
types  are  slyly  introduced,  endowed  here  and  there  with 
that  poetic  fancy  which  so  captivates  us  in  Kaimund's 
later  plays.  In  the  king  of  the  spirits  himself,  in  his 
selfishly  stupid,  easy-going,  superficially  benevolent  tyr- 
anny over  his  half -submissive,  half -critical  subjects,  it 
is  not  difficult  to  discover  allusions  to  the  reign  of  the 


G      GKIIiLPABZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Emperor  Francis.  There  is  gentle  satire  on  his  pa- 
triarchal omnipotence  in  his  scolding  of  the  Four  Sea- 
sons— brought  into  the  play  with  telling  effect — for  their 
failure  to  live  up  to  their  promises,  and  for  encroaching 
on  one  another's  domain. 

The  success  of  "Der  Diamant  des  Geisterkonigs"  made 
it  evident  that  its  allegorical  byplay  was  as  much  ap- 
preciated by  the  audiences  of  the  Leopoldstadter 
Theater  as  were  its  broadly  farcical  situations,  the 
sprightliness  of  the  dialogue,  and  the  gay  songs  and 
duets. 

In  his  next  play,  "The  Maiden  from  the  Fairy  World, 
or  the  Peasant  as  Millionaire,"  Eaimund's  muse  ventured 
on  a  higher  flight,  and  indeed  each  succeeding  play  con- 
tains less  of  the  farcical  element.  It  is  truly  pathetic  to 
hear  the  author  speak  to  a  friend  of  "all  the  little  stupidi- 
ties which  I  introduced  merely  because  I  was  afraid  the 
public  would  take  me  too  seriously."  The  central  idea 
of  the  plot  of  the  "Peasant  as  Millionaire"  may  be  found 
in  many  another  comedy.  Shakespeare  and  Holberg, 
among  others,  have  dramatized  the  vulgar  upstart  wallow- 
ing in  undreamed-of  luxury,  only  to  find  himself  at  last 
reduced  to  his  original  poverty ;  but  Kaimund  has  invested 
the  figure  with  a  charm  of  its  own.  Again  we  have  the 
allegorical  personification  of  human  attributes — Content- 
ment, Envy,  Hatred,  etc.  Youth  appears  and  makes  way 
for  Old  Age.  No  Viennese,  we  may  say  no  German,  who 
has  ever  heard  (as  who  has  not?)  the  song  with  which 
Youth  takes  leave  of  Wurzel,  the  peasant  millionaire,  can 
forget  its  haunting  melody.  Even  in  Heine's  ears  rang 
unforgettable  those  simple  words: 


FERDINAND  RAIMUND  7 

"Briiderlein  fein,  Briiderlein  fein, 
Zartlich  muss  geschieden  sein! 
Scheint  die  Sonne  noch  so  schon, 
Einmal  muss  sie  untergeh'n. 
Briiderlein  fein,  Briiderlein  fein, 
Schlag'  zum  Abschied  ein!" 

(Brotherkin  dear,  Brotherkin  dear, 
Sadly  draws  our  parting  near; 
Let  the  sun  shine  e'er  so  bright. 
Soon  it  sinks  into  the  night. 
Brotherkin  dear,  Brotherkin  dear, 
Now  the  parting  hour  is  here.) 

The  amusing  dialogue  between  Wurzel  and  Old  Age 
bears  in  some  respects  a  striking  resemblance  to  Frank- 
lin's Conversation  with  the  Gout.  Raimund,  with  that 
knowledge  of  stage  effect  which  is  the  heritage  of  every 
actor  turned  playwright,  puts  vividly  before  our  eyes  the 
transition  from  the  simple  peasant  to  the  pampered  mil- 
lionaire, to  the  feeble  invalid,  and,  finally,  to  the  hundred- 
year-old  ashman  with  his  ash-box  and  iron  crook.  There 
is  infinite  pathos  in  his  call : 

"Ashes!" 
"O  Lord,  what  a  miserable  wreck  I  am — 'Ashes'!     What  have 
I  been  and  what  am  I? — 'Ashes'!" 

Eaimund's  awakening  consciousness  of  his  powers  led 
him  into  the  mistake  of  attempting  several  dramas 
written,  in  part,  in  the  grand  style  of  the  classic  school. 
His  "Gefesselte  Fantasie"  (Fantasy  Fettered)  and  one 
or  two  other  serio-comic  plays  were  failures.  Fortu- 
nately, he  allowed  his  native  bent  full  play  in  "Der  Alpen- 
konig   und   der   Menschenfeind''    (The   Mountain   King 


8      GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

and  the  Misanthrope).  The  play  was  possibly  sug- 
gested by  Grillparzer's  conceit :  "Imagine  some  one  gifted 
with  the  power  of  changing  into  any  person  he  pleases 
and  bestowing  on  him  his  own  personality."  Eaimnnd'a 
Misanthrope  Eappelkopf,  the  counterpart  of  Shake- 
speare's Timon,  is  cured  of  his  hatred  of  man  by  the  in- 
terposition of  a  kindly  mountain  spirit,  who  personates 
his  double,  and  thus  confronts  him  with  his  own  image. 
The  play,  in  spite  of  certain  obvious  weaknesses  of  con- 
struction, may  challenge  comparison  with  Moliere's 
"Misanthrope,"  as  well  as  with  Schiller's  dramatic  frag- 
ment "Der  Menschenfeind."  There  is  in  Raimund's 
Rappelkopf  none  of  the  *'sceva  indignatio  of  a  noble  na- 
ture soured"  which  distinguishes  Alceste.  Nor  does  the 
language  of  the  play  ever  rise  to  the  philosophic  height 
of  Moliere's  sparkling  verses  or  the  rhetorical  polish  of 
Schiller's  diction;  but  there  is  an  irresistible  elemental 
power  in  the  development  of  Kappelkopf's  character. 
The  transformed  peasant  tolerates  no  will  but  his  own. 
He  doubts  the  fidelity  of  his  wife,  sees  in  his  servant  an 
assassin,  crosses  his  daughter's  love  affair  and  finally  flees 
to  the  woods,  recalling  Alceste's : 

"Et  parfois  il  me  prend  des  mouvements  soudains, 
De  fuir  dans  un  desert  I'approche  des  humains." 

Kappelkopf,  however,  takes  with  him  his  "deeply  hated 
money,  the  lewd  mistress  of  the  world,"  again  reminding 
us,  in  his  imprecation,  of  Timon.  He  enters  the  miserable 
hut  of  a  charcoal  burner,  whose  inmates  present,  in  the 
language  of  Prof.  Erich  Schmidt,  "a  picture  of  squalor  in 
low  life  equalled  in  effectiveness  only  by  the  masterpieces 


FERDINAND  RAIMUND 


FEEDINAND  EAIMUND  9 

of  Dutch  genre-painting.  The  children  cry  for  bread ;  the 
daughters  sing  a  popular  love  song;  the  father  lies  drunk 
on  his  miserable  straw  couch  and  babbles  incoherently, 
mocked  at  by  his  impudent  boys ;  the  mother  vainly  tries 
to  restore  order ;  the  grandmother  sneezes ;  the  dog  barks ; 
the  cat  mews."  Finally  the  disorder  is  quelled  by  the 
clinking  of  Kappelkopf's  gold.  He  buys  the  hut  and  its 
beggarly  contents,  on  condition  that  its  inmates  depart  at 
once.  The  sordid  crew  take  their  leave,  singing  that 
famous  farewell  song  the  sentimental  tenor  of  which  ill 
accords  with  the  wild  confusion  of  the  preceding  scene: 

"So  leb*  denn  wohl,  du  stilles  Haus, 
Wir  Ziehen  betriibt  aus  dir  hinaus." 

(Thou  quiet  home,  we  now  must  part. 
We  take  our  leave  with  saddened  heart.) 

There  are  probably  few  more  effective  scenes  on  the 
stage  than  the  one  in  which  Rappelkopf,  face  to  face  with 
his  double,  struggles  against  that  accursed  tenderness  to 
which  his  nature  is  so  unaccustomed.  How  he  changes 
from  approval  of  his  own  arbitrary  actions  to  doubt,  then 
to  disapproval,  and,  finally,  to  disgust  at  the  demeanor  of 
his  double;  how  he  at  last  vehemently  takes  part  against 
himself — all  this,  though  brought  out  in  simple  language, 
is  the  work  of  one  to  whom  the  human  heart  has  laid  bare 
its  secrets. 

Eaimund's  last  play,  "Der  Yerschwender"  (The  Spend- 
thrift), appeared  in  1834.  It  is  the  most  poetic  and 
dramatically  the  most  perfect  of  all  his  works,  and  holds 
the  German  stage  to  this  day  with  undiminished  power. 
An  atmosphere  of  sadness  pervades  this  drama,  in  spite 


10     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

of  the  delicious  humor  which  here,  as  in  so  many  of 
the  world's  masterpieces,  smiles  through  tears.  Again, 
as  in  the  preceding  play,  we  have  in  the  central  figure,  the 
spendthrift  Flottwell,  a  weak  character,  who  is  made  to 
see  in  a  wretched  beggar  the  personification  of  his  future 
doom.  The  fairy  Cheristane,  who  had  loved  Elottwell, 
entrusts  one  of  her  spirits,  Azur,  with  the  task  of  rescu- 
ing, in  the  guise  of  a  beggar,  from  the  inevitable  wreck 
of  FlottwelFs  fortune  whatever  alms  the  spendthrift  may 
voluntarily  give  him.  Again  and  again  the  beggar-spirit 
crosses  FlottwelFs  path,  imploring  him  for  a  gift.  Re- 
duced to  beggary  himself,  Flottwell  in  his  fiftieth  year 
confronts  for  the  last  time  the  beggar,  who  hands  him 
back  his  own.  "What  you  gave  to  the  poor,  you  gave  in 
the  fullest  sense  of  the  word  to  yourself."  With  this  sum 
Flottwell  begins  a  new  life,  and  rewards  the  kindness  of 
his  former  servant  Valentin,  Raimund's  most  perfect 
creation.  Valentin,  who  in  the  days  of  FlottwelFs  great- 
est prosperity  had  been  employed  in  his  castle,  fell  a  vic- 
tim to  the  treacherous  intrigues  of  Wolf,  FlottwelFs  body 
servant,  and  was  ignominiously  dismissed  from  the  castle, 
together  with  his  sweetheart,  Rosa,  now  his  wife.  'No 
translation  could  preserve  the  delicate  shades  of  the  scene 
in  which  Valentin,  now  a  master- joiner  in  modest  cir- 
cumstances, meets  his  former  master,  a  wretched  beggar. 
From  this  touching  scene  we  are  recalled  to  the  reality 
of  things  by  the  practical  sense  of  Valentin's  excellent 
wife.  She  is  by  no  means  enchanted  with  the  prospect  of 
entertaining  indefinitely  an  impecunious  guest,  as  she 
tells  Flottwell  with  perfect  frankness,  reminding  him  at 
the  same  time  of  the  humiliation  of  her  last  departure 


FEEDINAND  EAIMUND  11 

from  his  castle.  Valentin,  however,  threatens  to  leave 
home  with  all  their  children  if  his  former  master  is  re- 
fused admission,  and  Rosa,  after  a  delightfully  realistic, 
good-natured  domestic  quarrel,  yields  with  good  grace. 
All  ends  in  happiness,  the  greater  because  Flottwell 
divides  Azur's  gift  with  his  hosts. 

The  writer  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  quote,  in 
however  inadequate  a  translation,  Valentin's  famous 
"Ilobellied''  ("Song  of  the  Joiner's  Plane"),  familiar  to 
every  German.    The  original  is  as  follows : 

"Da  streiten  sich  die  Leut'  hemm 
Oft  um  den  Wert  des  Gliicks, 
Der  eine  heisst  den  andern  dumm. 
Am  End'  weiss  keiner  nix. 
Das  ist  der  allerarmste  Mann, 
Der  andre  viel  zu  reich, 
Das  Schicksal  setzt  den  Hobel  an 
Und  hobelt  s'  beide  gleich. 

"Die  Jugend  will  halt  stets  mit  G'walt 
In  allem  gliicklich  sein, 
Doch  wird  man  nur  ein  bissel  alt, 
Da  find't  man  sich  schon  d'rein. 
Oft  zankt  mein  Weib  mit  mir,  o  GrausI 
Das  bringt  mich  nicht  in  Wuth, 
Da  klopf  ich  meinen  Hobel  aus 
Und  dank',  Du  brummst  mir  gut. 

"Zeigt  sich  der  Tod  einst  mit  Verlaub 
Und  zupft  mich:  Briiderl  kumm, 
Da  steir  ich  mich  im  Anfang  taub, 
Und  schau'  mich  gar  nicht  um. 
Doch  sagt  er:  Lieber  Valentin, 
Mach  keine  Umstand',  geh'! 


13    GRILLPARZEK  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

Da  leg  ich  meinen  Hobel  hin, 
Und  sag  der  Welt  Adje!" 

(How  often  foolish  folk  dispute 

About  good  luck.    What  stuff! 
The  poor  man  can't  the  rich  refute, 

For  neither  knows  enough. 
The  poor  man,  he  is  much  too  poor. 

The  rich  is  much  too  rich. 
But  fate  planes  both  so  nicely  o'er 

You  don't  know  which  is  which. 

Youth  wants  to  be  at  any  cost 

As  happy  as  it  can. 
But  when  the  bloom  of  youth  is  lost. 

Why,  then  we  change  our  plan. 
My  grumbling  wife  I  try  in  vain 

To  please  (I  love  her  still) — 
I  beat  the  shavings  from  my  plane. 

And  let  her  growl  her  fill. 

When  death  at  last  polite  draws  near. 

And  says:  "Thy  horn*  has  struck," 
I  first  pretend  I  cannot  hear. 

And  try  once  more  my  luck. 
But  when  he  says :    "  'Tis  all  in  vain. 

My  boy,  such  tricks  to  try," 
Why,  then  I  put  my  plane  away. 

And  bid  the  world  good-bye.) 

This  brief  sketch  would  be  wholly  inadequate  without 
at  least  an  allusion  to  Raimund's  unique  gift  of  drawing 
purely  humorous  characters,  as  exemplified  in  the  scene  in 
the  "Verschwender"  where  Dumont,  one  of  Flottwell's 
boon  companions,  a  Frenchman,  superficially  enraptured 
with  Nature  in  all  her  picturesque  aspects,  meets  a  poor, 


FERDINAND  RAIMUND  13 

old,  toothless  peasant  woman,  staggering  under  the  weight 
of  a  bundle  of  wood.  He  admires  her  wrinkles  and  rags 
immensely,  as  they  so  admirably  set  off  the  beauty  of  the 
landscape,  and  she  mistakes  his  enthusiasm  for  a  sincere 
tribute  to  the  remnants  of  her  former  beauty,  and  accepts 
the  money  he  gives  her  with  a  delicious  mixture  of 
modesty  and  pride.  The  contrast  between  the  broken 
High-German  of  the  French  chevalier  and  the  old 
woman's  homely  dialect  defies,  of  course,  any  attempt  at 
translation. 

As  in  Eaimund's  plays,  so  in  his  life  humor  often 
melted  into  pathos.  In  the  bitter  moods  and  the  self- 
torture  of  Kappelkopf  are  reflected  some  of  Eaimund's 
own  traits.  His  married  life  was  unhappy;  he  imagined 
himself  the  victim  of  persecution  and  was  suspicious  of 
the  motives  of  his  warmest  friends.  He  despised  the  "vul- 
garity of  theatrical  life,"  as  he  phrased  it,  and  fled  the 
city  whenever  he  could,  restlessly  roaming  over  the  moun- 
tains or  seeking  refuge  in  the  stillness  of  his  beloved  rural 
retreat  at  Gutenstein,  not  far  from  Vienna.  There  he 
ended  his  life  by  a  pistol  shot  in  September,  1836.  He 
had  been  bitten  by  a  favorite  dog  and  imagined  himself 
doomed  to  die  of  hydrophobia. 

Lovable  as  was  Eaimund's  character  in  many  ways,  he 
remained,  according  to  the  testimony  of  aU  who  knew  him, 
a  child  in  his  uncontrollable  emotional  nature.  But  he  also 
had  the  child's — or  shall  we  say  the  true  poet's? — ^naive 
unconsciousness  of  his  real  genius,  of  its  depth  as  well  as 
its  limitations.  If  he  consumed  himself  in  vain  longing 
for  an  immortality  other  than  that  of  the  most  poetic 
writer  of  German  fairy  dramas — an  immortality  as  se- 


w 


14    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

cure  as  that  of  the  kindred  spirits  of  Burns  and  Andersen 
— he  was  not  without  a  proud  recognition  of  the  value  of 
his  work  as  the  regenerator  of  popular  dramatic  taste. 
And  when  that  taste  underwent  a  change,  and  the  cynical 
satirist,  Johann  Nestroj,  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and 
the  public  applauded  his  sardonic  wit  and  frivolous 
burlesques  as  it  had  applauded  his  own  dreamlike  alle- 
gories, the  gentle  Raimund  succumbed  to  the  cruel  disil- 
lusionment. "It  is  all  over  with  me  and  my  plays.  It 
was  all  in  vain,"  he  exclaimed,  after  seeing  one  of  Nes- 
troy's  plays.  The  melancholy  which  deepened  into  suicide 
was  really,  as  many  of  his  friends  believed,  the  bitter  grief 
of  a  heart-broken  genius,  recognizing  at  the  same  time  his 
own  power  and  the  futility  of  his  life-work. 


n 

THE  PEASANT  DEAMA  IN  AUSTRIA 
LITDWIG  ANZENGEUBEK 

The  patriotic  German-speaking  Liberals  of  Austria  have 
summed  up  their  political  aspirations  in  one  word — 
"Josephinismus."  The  Emperor  Joseph  II.  has  ever  been 
cherished  bj  those  Austrians  whose  political  aspirations 
centre  in  German  thought  and  culture  as  their  ideal 
monarch.  Simple  in  his  ways,  tolerant  toward  all  creeds, 
yet  jealous  of  the  rights  of  the  state  as  against  the 
aggressions  of  the  clergy,  a  "lover  of  mankind'^  (as 
he  inscribed  himself  in  donating  a  park  to  the  people 
of  Vienna),  his  human  frailties  and  political  shortsighted- 
ness have  long  been  forgiven  and  forgotten  by  those  who 
have  invoked  his  memory  whenever,  as  has  so  often  hap- 
pened in  the  history  of  Austria,  religious  intolerance  had 
to  be  combatted  or  the  predominance  of  the  German  ele- 
ment seemed  threatened  by  the  rising  tide  of  Slavic  and 
feudal  self-assertion. 

The  violence  of  race  and  religious  contests,  which  in 
recent  years  has  found  such  disgraceful  expression  in  the 
Vienna  Keichsrath,  is,  it  is  true,  a  new  phenomenon  in 
parliamentary  history;  but  those  whose  memory  goes 
back  to  the  early  days  of  Austrian  constitutionalism, 
forced  upon  the  government  by  the  disastrous  war  of 
1866,  will  recall  the  intense  bitterness  of  feeling  then 


16    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

aroused  bj  the  struggle  between  liberalism  and  clerical- 
ism. The  regulation  of  religious  and  school  affairs  occu- 
pied all  Cisleithania,  and  Vienna  was  merely  the  centre  of 
an  agitation  which  spread  to  the  remotest  hamlet  of  every 
province.  Shortly  before  the  abolition,  in  1868,  of  the 
supremacy  of  the  ecclesiastical  courts,  which  until  then 
regulated  all  marriage  relations,  and  the  transfer  of  the 
entire  department  of  education  to  the  state,  the  clerical 
agitation,  especially  among  the  humbler  rural  representa- 
tives of  the  Church,  reached  its  greatest  height;  for  the 
very  existence  of  the  Concordat  of  1855  was  at  stake. 
And  when  the  Liberal  party  finally  gained  its  crowning 
victory  in  the  abrogation  of  the  compact  with  Rome, 
Vienna  and  all  Austria  rang  with  theological  and  philo- 
sophical discussions  called  forth  by  the  official  sanction  of 
free  thought  and  free  speech. 

It  was  in  the  heated  atmosphere  of  the  elections  of 
T870  that  there  was  performed,  on  the  5th  of  November, 
at  the  Theater  an  der  Wien,  in  Vienna,  a  "play  for 
the  people"  (Volksstiick)  in  four  acts,  entitled  "Der 
Pfarrer  von  Kirchfeld"  (The  Priest  of  Kirchfeld).  The 
author,  who  styled  himself  "L.  Gruber,"  was  entirely  un- 
known to  the  public.  He  placed  before  the  audiences  of  a 
theatre  so  long  given  over  to  the  gay  operettas  of  Offen- 
bach a  play  dealing  with  the  political  and  social  questions 
which  were  then  agitating  all  minds.  The  experiment 
resulted  in  an  unparalleled  triumph.  The  priest  of  Lud- 
wig  Anzengruber's  play — such  was  the  real  name  of  the 
young  author — appealed  to  liberal  Austria  almost  with 
the  power  of  divine  revelation. 

The  hero  is  a  village  priest  whose  gospel  is  love  for  all 


LUDWIG  ANZENGRUBER  17 

mankind,  regardless  of  religious  and  class  distinctions. 
He  is  intolerant  only  toward  intolerance,  uncompromising 
only  in  judging  his  own  weaknesses.  He  succumbs  in  his 
conflict  with  ecclesiastical  bigotry,  but  he  triumphs  in  the 
struggle  against  the  most  powerful  of  human  passions. 
The  young  priest  has  won  the  affection  of  all  the  villagers. 
His  influence  turns  the  men  from  the  village  bar-room 
which  they  used  to  frequent  in  working  hours,  and  puts 
a  stop  to  the  rude  and  often  bloody  encounters  which  ter- 
minated their  festivities.  But  he  has  incurred  the  enmity 
of  the  feudal  lord  of  the  diocese.  Faithful  son  of  the 
Church  as  the  priest  is,  he  approves,  heart  and  soul,  of 
the  liberal  laws  of  the  state.  He  does  not  permit  his 
parishioners  to  join  in  public  protests  against  the  law,  and 
while  he  cannot  himself  perform  the  marriage  ceremony 
at  the  union  between  a  young  Catholic  peasant  and  a 
Protestant  maiden,  he  blesses  the  bride  on  her  way  to  the 
civil  office  where  the  couple  are  to  be  united.  But  there 
is  one  man  among  the  villagers  who  hates  the  good  priest. 
Twenty  years  previously  young  Gerbersepp  (Tanner  Joe) 
wanted  to  marry  a  Lutheran  girl,  but  the  old  priest  de- 
nounced the  ungodly  affection,  and  so  worked  upon 
Gerbersepp's  mother  that  for  her  sake  he  gave  up  his  love. 
But  with  his  sweetheart  he  forever  lost  his  happiness  and 
his  hold  on  the  world.  He  is  an  aimless  vagabond,  no 
longer  Tanner  Joe,  but  Wurzelsepp,  the  Rootdigger.  His 
hatred  of  the  Church  and  its  priests  is  all  the  greater  be- 
cause his  mother's  mind  has  given  way  under  the  stress 
of  his  own  misery.  He  hates  the  very  sight  of  a  priestly 
garb,  and  is  intent  on  showing  the  villagers  of  Kirchfeld 
that  their  young  priest  is  no  better  than  all  the  rest  of 


18    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

those  who  profess  holiness.  And  when  Anna,  a  buxom 
young  girl,  asks  him  to  show  her  the  way  to  the  vicarage, 
where  she  is  to  serve,  he  sees  with  the  prescient  eye  of 
malevolence  that  her  entrance  into  the  house  bodes  evil 
to  the  priest,  and  he  gloats  over  the  prospect  of  his  fall. 
The  girl,  pure  of  heart  as  she  is  lovely  in  appearance, 
brings  new  sunshine  into  the  curate's  lonely  life.  Her 
innocent  gayety  recalls  to  him  his  lost  sister,  and  he  in- 
dulges a  thoughtless  dream  that  Anna  may  forever  live  in 
the  vicarage.  He  presents  her  with  a  little  golden  cross, 
the  legacy  of  his  mother.  Unsuspecting  of  evil  thought  in 
others,  as  he  is  unconscious  of  evil  intent  in  himself,  he 
permits  her  to  wear  the  cross  in  public,  as  do  so  many 
girls  in  and  around  Kirchfeld.  In  a  moon-lit  night 
Wurzelsepp,  who  prowls  around  the  vicarage,  overhears 
an  innocent  talk  between  the  priest  and  Anna,  and  he 
suddenly  confronts  him  and  discloses  to  him  the  secret  of 
his  budding  affection  for  the  girl. 

"The  voice  of  that  young  girl  is  to  your  ear  as  the  song  of  a 
bird  in  the  woods.  You  look  up  from  your  books  and  feast  on 
her  lovely  face.  You  have  given  her  your  dead  mother's  cross, 
and  although  the  girl  can't  be  yours,  you  don't  want  her  to  be 
another  man's  wife.  .  .  .  With  that  gown  on  you,  you  must 
be  what  I  think  you  are,  even  against  your  will.  You  must, 
even  though  your  heart  should  break." 

And  the  peasants,  he  says,  will  think  as  he  does  when 
they  see  her  with  the  golden  cross  around  her  neck,  for 

"they  are  all  good  Christians;  you  priests  have  taught  them  to 
fear  Satan  more  than  God,  and  therefore  they  think  evil  rather 
than  good  of  others.  .  .  .  You  may  struggle  as  much  as  you 
please,  but  that  girl  will  be  your  ruin.    I  know  you  are  thinking 


LUDWIG  ANZENGRUBER  19 

of  a  thousand  ways  of  keeping  her  with  you,  but  I  tell  you 
there  are  only  two :  Either  you  keep  her  in  dishonor,  and  then 
you  are  forever  lost  to  Kirchfeld,  or  you  let  her  go  with  a  broken 
heart,  and  then  Kirchfeld  and  the  whole  world  are  lost  to  you. 
There  is  no  other  way.  I  have  you  in  my  grasp  so  tight  that  I 
don't  even  need  to  lay  hands  on  you." 

And  thus  he  leaves  him.  When  Wurzelsepp  meets  the 
priest  for  the  second  time  face  to  face,  after  the  rumors 
he  has  helped  to  spread  have  worked  their  poison  in  the 
minds  of  the  people,  it  is  to  implore  the  man  he  hates  to 
give  to  his  mother,  who  has  drowned  herself,  a  Christian 
burial.  And  when  the  priest  soothes  his  sorrow  and  opens 
his  arms  to  him,  and  only  asks  him  to  think  henceforth 
better  of  his  fellow-men,  Sepp  throws  himself  at  his  feet 
and  exclaims :  "Do  with  me  as  you  think  best,  you,  who 
are  just  and  good."  ISTot  thus  think  the  consistory  and 
Count  Finsterberg,  the  lord  of  the  diocese.  The  priest  is 
deprived  of  his  office,  excommunicated,  and  dismissed 
from  the  Church,  which  summons  him  to  do  penance  for 
his  sins.  His  last  official  act  is  the  performance  of  the 
ceremony  at  the  marriage  of  Anna  and  the  young  peasant 
whom  she  loves.  His  last  words  to  the  young  couple  and 
Wurzelsepp  are: 

"My  children,  although  they  have  told  you  I  am  no  longer  a 
priest,  1  cannot  help  taking  leave  of  you  as  such.  I  do  not 
assume  their  rights  in  doing  so,  for  the  words  I  now  utter  with 
all  my  heart  they  have  long  since  unlearned :    'I  bless  you.' " 

The  extraordinary  success  of  "Der  Pfarrer  von  Kirch- 
feld" was  due  as  much  to  its  intrinsic  dramatic  merits  as 
to  its  appearance  at  the  psychological  moment.  Who  was 
the  author,  the  humor  and  pathos  of  whose  peasants,  life- 


go    GlllLLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DBAMA 

like  in  every  fibre,  appealed  to  the  mere  theatre-goer  with 
as  much  force  as  did  the  noble  sentiments  of  the  priest, 
Josephiner  to  the  core,  to  the  liberal  thought  of  the  day  ? 

Ludwig  Anzengruber  was  born  in  Vienna  on  the  29th 
of  November,  1839.  His  father,  a  petty  official  of  liberal 
ideas  and  a  writer  of  academically  correct  verses  and  in- 
significant plays,  died  at  the  age  of  thirty-four,  and  left  to 
his  widow  and  their  only  child  a  government  pension  of 
about  seventy  dollars,  besides  a  large  pile  of  manuscript. 
The  boy  browsed  at  will  among  his  father's  books. 
Shakespeare,  Schiller,  Lessing,  Schlegel,  and  translations 
of  Aristotle's  "Poetics"  and  of  Swift's  "Gulliver,"  fed  his 
imagination.  His  liking  for  the  pagan  Lucian  involved 
him  early  in  an  amusing  discussion  with  the  priest  who 
imparted  religious  instruction  in  the  Realschule.  His 
mother's  straitened  circumstances  made  it  necessary  for 
him  to  leave  school.  He  entered  the  business  of  a  book- 
seller and  spent  there  three  years,  improving  the  oppor- 
tunity to  read  books  on  art.  He  had  some  skill  in  draw- 
ing, at  one  time  tried  his  hand  at  etching,  and  hoped  to 
become  a  painter.  Finally,  however,  he  yielded  to  an  ir- 
resistible fondness  for  the  stage  and  joined  a  theatrical 
company  at  Wiener-Neustadt,  near  Vienna.  His  mother, 
a  most  admirable  woman,  accompanied  him  thither,  and 
in  all  the  subsequent  wanderings  of  his  roving  actor-life. 
His  early  lyric  productions  show  the  fervent  patriotism 
of  the  Liberal  German- Austrian,  as  well  as  the  bent  of  his 
mind  toward  that  pantheism  with  which  he  later  endowed 
some  of  his  peasant-philosophers;  but  his  poems,  on  the 
whole,  lack  individuality  and  distinction.  He  learned  to 
know  all  the  disillusionment  of  the  typical  strolling  actor. 


LUDWIG  ANZENGEUBER  21 

In  Styria,  Southern  Hungary,  in  Croatia  and  Slavonia, 
he  played,  sometimes  in  inns  or  in  a  barn,  whatever  role 
fell  to  his  lot.  He  acted  nothing  well,  as  he  himself  recog- 
nized ;  but  he  was  everywhere  respected  by  his  colleagues 
for  the  ideal  purity  of  his  life  and  his  touching  devotion 
to  his  mother. 

In  1866  he  drifted  back  to  Vienna,  and  was  engaged  as 
"understudy"  in  small  roles  at  the  Harmonic  Theater. 
He  wrote  some  plays  whenever  the  occasion  called  for 
them,  was  ready  to  furnish  over  night  a  one-act  comedy, 
to  suit  some  costumes  that  had  just  arrived  from  Paris, 
and  thought  himself  not  ill-rewarded  by  a  royalty  of  a 
dollar  or  so. 

Karl  Millocker,  the  composer,  who  afterwards  acquired 
fame  by  his  "Beggar  Student"  and  other  operettas,  was 
Kapellmeister  at  the  same  theatre,  and  Anzengruber  fur- 
nished the  librettos  for  his  first  two  musical  attempts. 
With  the  collapse  of  the  Harmonic  Theater,  Anzengruber 
was  once  more  penniless,  and  he  and  his  mother  were  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  pawning  what  few  valuables  they 
possessed.  Now  and  then  he  was  lucky  enough  to  sell  a 
couplet  to  some  VolJcssdnger,  for  the  audiences  of  a  beer 
garden,  or  to  have  some  squib  accepted  by  a  comic  weekly. 
Finally,  a  daily  paper  printed  several  of  his  stories,  and 
in  1870  he  found  an  engagement,  at  a  salary  of  twenty 
dollars  a  month,  in  the  bureau  of  the  Vienna  police  de- 
partment. He  now  determined  to  cling  faithfully  to  his 
new  profession,  burned  nearly  all  his  youthful  productions 
and  a  dozen  plays,  but  decided  to  make  one  more  attempt 
as  a  writer  for  the  stage.  The  result  was  "Der  Pf arrer  von 
Kirchfeld." 


22     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Not  quite  twenty  years  were  allotted  to  Anzengruber 
after  the  triumphant  beginning  of  his  literary  career.  He 
crowded  into  this  period  more  than  twenty  plays  and 
dozens  of  novels  and  tales.  In  order  to  appreciate  his 
work  at  its  true  value,  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  that 
he  was  not  so  much  the  creator  as  the  regenerator  of 
peasant  life  in  German  literature.  When  he  began  to 
write,  Auerbach's  "Village  Tales"  had  largely  lost  their 
hold  on  the  public.  A  reaction  against  his  idealized  peas- 
ants had  set  in  as  exaggerated  and  uncritical  as  is  much  of 
the  criticism  levelled  in  our  country  at  Cooper's  idealized 
Indians.  Anzengruber's  realism  captivated  the  world  as 
Auerbach's  idealism  had  captivated  it  thirty  years  before, 
and  yet  a  saner  critical  opinion  has  not  found  it  necessary 
to  disparage  the  earlier  writer  in  order  to  appreciate  the 
later.  Auerbach  himself  welcomed  the  advent  of  his  pow- 
erful successor  as  warmly  as  Anzengruber  acknowledged 
the  essential  genuineness  of  the  characters  of  the 
"Schwarzwalder  Dorfgeschichten."  Both  depicted  life  as 
they  saw  it,  but  if  Auerbach's  types  remind  us  of  Knaus 
and  Defregger,  Anzengruber's  recall  Millet.  Shadows 
predominate  in  the  greatest  dramas  of  the  Austrian,  as 
does  sunshine  in  the  poet  of  the  Black  Forest;  and  yet 
no  one  who  has  seen  or  read  one  of  Anzengruber's  master- 
pieces can  deny  that  he  caught  the  poetry  of  peasant  life 
as  fully  as  he  grasped  its  realism,  and  that  his  sense  of 
humor  was  as  keen  as  his  pathos  was  deep.  A  mere 
allusion  to  the  plots  of  one  or  two  of  his  plays  will  indicate 
the  extraordinary  range  of  his  dramatic  characters.  "Der 
Meineidbauer"  (The  Perjured  Countryman)  shows  us  a 
peasant,  respected  as  the  wealthiest  and  most  God-fearing 


LUDWIG  ANZENGRUBEE  23 

man  far  and  near,  who  had  destroyed  the  will  of  his 
brother,  which  deeded  his  property  to  his  illegitimate  chil- 
dren. The  Meineidbauer  had  sworn  that  there  was  no  will, 
and  had  thus  become  sole  heir.  The  story  is  developed 
with  great  power,  free  from  melodramatic  taint  and  direct 
moralizing,  the  peasant  nature,  whether  in  defiant  sin  or 
in  the  agony  of  remorse,  being  true  to  itself,  and  pleasing 
incidents  of  every-day  village  life  shedding  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine over  the  gloom  of  the  plot. 

"Die  Kreuzelschreiber"  (The  Cross  Signers),  one  of 
Anzengruber's  most  successful  comedies,  was  based  on  an 
actual  incident  in  a  Bavarian  community.  The  peasants 
there  were  induced  by  a  village  radical  to  sign  their  cross 
(as  they  were  unable  to  write)  to  an  address  to  Dr. 
Dollinger,  the  famous  leader  of  the  Old  Catholics,  shortly 
after  his  excommunication  by  the  Church.  The  outraged 
village  priests  and  father-confessors  in  the  play  work  upon 
the  feelings  of  the  women  to  such  an  extent  as  to  cause 
them  to  forswear  their  marital  duty  to  their  husbands  if 
they  persist  in  their  godless  course.  Nature' triumphs 
and  peace  is  restored.  The  subject  suggests  one  of  the 
comedies  of  Aristophanes.  "Die  Kreuzelschreiber"  con- 
tains one  of  Anzengruber's  most  delightful  characters, 
Steinklopferhanns  ( Stonecrusher  John).  "My  world  is 
a  jolly  world,"  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  his  philosophy. 
"I  know  it's  a  jolly  one,  even  if  you  fellows  don't,"  for  he 
had  a  revelation  when  he  was  twenty  years  old,  and  had 
come  home  from  the  army  because  he  had  been  kicked  by 
a  horse,  and  thought  he  had  to  die.  "If  I  must  die,"  he 
reasoned,  "let  me  die  in  the  open  air,  with  the  green 
meadow  as  my  cover,  and  the  sun  to  close  my  eyes."    And 


24    GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAIST  DEAMA 

80  he  dragged  himself  out  and  threw  himself  into  the 
grass,  and  there  he  fell  asleep. 

"And  when  I  awoke,  the  sun  was  near  setting,  and  a  few 
stars  hung  up  there  so  near  to  me  that  it  seemed  as  if  I  could 
reach  them.  Far  in  the  valley  smoked  the  chimneys,  and  the 
village  forge  near  the  edge  of  the  woods  twinkled  like  a  glow- 
worm. Around  me  the  bugs  and  grasshoppers  were  fussing  and 
buzzing,  so  that  I  came  near  laughing,  and  above  me  in  the 
branches  the  birds  hopped,  and  a  fine  soft  breeze  was  blowing.  I 
look  around  and  suddenly  I  find  I  can  get  up  without  a  hitch,  and 
as  I  stretch  and  see  the  world — how  full  of  life  and  joy  it  is,  and 
how  the  sun  goes  down  and  the  stars  come  up — I  feel  as  if  I  had 
just  been  made  all  over,  and  as  if  the  bright  sunshine  had  all 
gone  into  me,  and  then  I  seem  to  hear  some  one  say,  just  as 
though  we  two  were  talking  to  each  other:  'Nothing  can  hap- 
pen to  you.  Nothing  counts  when  it's  all  over:  whether  you 
lie  six  feet  deep  under  the  sod,  or  whether  you  see  thousands 
of  others  lie  there  before  your  turn  comes — nothing  can  happen 
to  you !  You  belong  to  them  all,  and  they  belong  to  you.  Noth- 
ing can  happen  to  you.'  And  then  I  was  so  full  of  joy  that 
I  shouted  to  everything  around  me:  'Nothing  can  happen! 
Nothing!'  That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  was  jolly,  and  jolly 
I  have  been  ever  since,  and  I  only  wish  no  one  else  were  sad 
and  spoiled  my  jolly  world.  Be  jolly,  Gelbhofbauer,  be  jolly, 
nothing  can  happen  to  you !" 

Contrast  with  this  village  optimist  the  figure  of  old 
Brenninger,  who,  like  all  the  other  men  in  the  play  who 
have  afiixed  their  cross  to  the  fatal  document,  is  placed  be- 
fore the  alternative  of  banishment  from  house  and  home 
or  a  penitential  pilgrimage  to  the  See  of  the  Holy  Father. 
"Sleep  in  the  hayloft  or  go  to  Rome,"  is  the  order  that  has 
gone  forth,  and  no  one  is  so  crushed  by  the  decree  as  old 
Brenninger,  who  thus  tells  Steinklopf erhanns  his  woe : 
^'You  don't  know  what  it  all  means  to  an  old  man,  you  boy. 


LUDWIG  ANZENGEUBER  25 

You  don't  know  what  one  feels  when  the  old  one  conies  out  of 
her  room  in  her  Sunday  best,  and  I  put  my  hand  on  her  like  a 
young  fool  head  over  heels  in  love.  She  gets  angry;  well,  she 
has  shrunk  a  good  deal  and  I  haven't  grown  any  prettier ;  you'd 
think  we  might  almost  get  sick  of  each  other  if  we  hadn't  lived 
together  in  the  good  old  days — yes,  we  have  had  a  good  time 
together.  Nearly  fifty  years  I  have  lived  with  my  Mary  Ann, 
and  if  one  has  had  so  many  children — let's  see — seven  of  them 
(he  counts  them  on  his  fingers) — there  was  Mirzl,  and  Rosie,  and 
Sepp,  and  the  first  one — I  can't  remember  its  name.  If  one 
has  brought  up  seven  of  them,  in  good  times  and  in  hard,  and 
has  seen  them  carried  out,  one  after  the  other,  to  God's  acre, 
then  one  gets  sort  of  used  to  being  lonely  and  living  together 
with  the  old  one." 

"I  have  nothing  to  expect  in  this  world  any  more,"  he 
says,  as  he  turns  to  go  to  his  hayloft.  "I  miss  the  old 
ways,  and  if  I  can't  have  the  old  ways" — and  next  day 
old  Brenninger  is  found  dead  in  the  creek.  He  had  missed 
the  path.    The  old  ways  were  gone. 

The  world  outside  of  Germany  will  never  know  Anzen- 
gruber,  the  dramatist,  as  he  deserves  to  be  known,  for  his 
characters  speak  for  the  most  part  a  language,  neither 
wholly  dialect  nor  High  German,  which  inevitably  limits 
their  audience  and  precludes  faithful  translation.  Those 
of  his  plays  which  deal  with  the  social  problems  of  city 
life  are  decidedly  inferior  in  merit.  Not  a  few  of  his 
short  stories,  however,  particularly  those  known  as 
''Dorfgange"  (Village  Eambles),  are  of  universal  interest, 
and  one,  at  least,  of  his  novels  awaits  the  skilful  translator 
who  is  to  reveal  to  English  readers  an  unsuspected  mine  of 
psychological  analysis,  poetic  beauty,  and  dramatic  inter- 
est. "Der  Sternsteinhof  (Starstone  Farm,  so  called 
from  a  meteorite  which  fell  upon  the  field  and  was  built 


26     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

into  the  foundation  wall  of  the  house)  is  the  story  of  a 
young  girl,  the  poorest  and  most  beautiful  in  the  village, 
daughter  of  a  worthless  mother,  and  herself  worldly  and 
unprincipled,  and  consumed  by  the  ambition  to  become 
mistress  of  the  stately  Sternsteinhof .  She  despises  the  son 
of  its  proud  old  peasant  owner,  but  gives  herself  up  to 
him  under  a  promise  of  marriage.  She  weds  a  sculptor  of 
saintly  images,  himself  of  saintly  goodness,  who  adopts 
her  child  as  his  own ;  and  when  he  dies,  and  the  wife  of  her 
betrayer  dies,  she  marries  him,  and  thus  she  reaches  the 
goal  of  her  ambition.  As  ruler  of  the  estate,  she  disarms, 
by  the  skill  of  her  management,  the  former  bitter  hostility 
of  her  father-in-law,  a  character  as  strong  as  his  son,  her 
husband,  is  weak  and  contemptible.  The  young  Bauer  is 
killed  in  war,  and  the  widow  lords  it  over  his  father,  now 
her  willing  subject.  The  Sternsteinhof  expands  and  flour- 
ishes as  it  never  did  before.  And  the  moral  ?  There  is 
none,  but  the  story  holds  us  with  a  power  Turgenieff  could 
not  have  surpassed,  while  its  sombreness  is  relieved  by  the 
varied  charm  of  its  fascinating  minor  characters.  The 
novel  throbs  with  the  very  pulse  of  nature,  in  the  terrify- 
ing aspects  of  human  vice  and  passion,  brought  into  the 
sharpest  contrast  with  almost  superhuman  self-abnega- 
tion ;  while  the  descriptions  of  rural  life  recall  some  of  the 
most  brilliant  pages  of  George  Sand. 

There  is,  perhaps,  in  all  literature  no  realist  at  once  so 
real  and  so  ideal  as  Anzengruber.  He  shows  us  all  of 
human  life  within  the  confines  of  a  small  village.  "O 
good  God,"  says  an  old  woman  in  one  of  his  stories,  "how 
much  is  going  on  in  your  wide  world !"  "Yes,"  answers 
the  old  man,  "right  you  are,  everything  happens  that  can 


THE  ANZENGKUBER  MONUMENT  AT  VIENNA 


LUDWIG  AXZENGRUBEE  27 

happen."  His  peasant  is  always  busy  with  his  petty  con- 
cerns, whatever  his  character  and  his  fate.  There  are  no 
"English  Komans,"  to  use  Goethe's  characterization  of 
Shakespeare's  rabble  in  "Julius  Caesar,"  in  Anzengruber's 
plays.  And  as  the  human  heart  disclosed  its  secrets  to 
him,  so  E'ature  made  him  her  confidant.  To  harmonize 
man  and  IN'ature  was  part  of  his  aesthetic  and  moral  creed. 
"If  the  accursed  religious  quarrels  of  the  Thirty  Years' 
War,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend  in  the  ]!Torth,  "had  not  poi- 
soned our  people  down  here,  in  the  midst  of  all  that  is 
glorious  under  heaven,  man  and  Mature  would  be  in  full 
accord.  How  beautiful  it  all  might  be!  But  ITature  is 
still  beautiful  and  man  improves,  little  by  little,  after  all." 

The  troubles  that  fell  so  bountifully  to  the  lot  of  every 
one  of  Austria's  great  poets  did  not  spare  Anzengruber. 
Even  after  his  fame  was  secure  his  income  was  barely 
adequate  to  his  modest  needs,  and  the  fickle  favor  of  the 
Vienna  public  produced  in  him  moods  of  deep  depression, 
healthy  and  fate-defying  as  his  manly  nature  was. 

"A  restless  spirit,"  he  wrote  at  the  close  of  1875  to  his 
intimate  friend,  the  poet  Kosegger,  "drives  me  from 
place  to  place,  from  plan  to  plan.  I  wonder  what  the  new 
year  will  bring  forth  to  the  state,  the  city  and  to  my  man- 
ager. ...  As  for  me,  personally,  I  have  neither  fears  nor 
hopes."  The  persecutions  of  the  public  censor  wrung 
from  him  the  bitter  complaint :  "As  I  can't  touch  my  pen 
without  seeing  any  play  of  mine,  to  its  very  title,  objected 
to  by  the  government,  there  is  nothing  left  me  but  to  write 
what  is  harmless  and  insipid.    O  what  a  state  of  affairs !" 

One  of  the  most  warm-hearted  of  men  (with  all  his 
brusqueness  of  manner)   and  an  exemplary  husband,  as 


28     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

he  had  been  the  most  dutiful  of  sons,  he  was  unfortunate 
in  the  choice  of  his  wife,  from  whom  he  was  divorced  a  few 
months  before  his  death.  Honors  and  comparative  afflu- 
ence came  too  late  to  be  long  enjoyed.  The  award  of  the 
Schiller  prize,  in  1878,  was  perhaps  the  triumph  he  most 
appreciated.  The  modest  new  home  he  had  acquired  in 
Vienna  he  was  not  to  enter.  Preparations  had  been  made 
by  a  few  of  his  most  intimate  friends  for  the  celebration 
of  his  fiftieth  birthday,  when  he  was  seized  by  an  illness 
which  soon  proved  fatal,  on  the  10th  of  December,  1889. 
He  worked  almost  until  the  hour  of  death. 

Anzengruber,  like  Raimund,  drew  his  strength  from 
the  very  soil  of  his  country.  The  charm  of  Austrian  and 
Viennese  life  communicated  itself  to  the  works  of  both 
as  unmistakably  as  did  the  darker  sides  of  Austrian  con- 
ditions. Raimund,  the  untutored  dreamer,  and  Anzen- 
gruber, the  keen-eyed  realist,  were  Austrian  in  every  fibre 
of  their  being,  and  German  literature  must  recognize  this 
fact  while  welcoming  them  to  the  illustrious  company  of 
the  great  writers  who  were  rooted  in  the  greater  German 
fatherland. 


Goethe  has  clearly  vindicated  the  right  of  artless  poetry 
to  speak  a  universal  language.  "True  poetic  genius,"  he 
says,  "wherever  we  may  meet  it,  is  complete  in  itself,  even 
if  hampered  by  imperfection  of  language  and  lack  of  out- 
ward skill;  for  it  possesses  that  higher  inner  form  which 
in  the  end  conquers  everything  and  often  produces  more 
glorious  effects  in  an  obscure  and  imperfect  medium  than 
it  does,  later  on,  in  the  perfect."    German  Austria  is  rich 


LUDWIG  ANZENGRUBEK  29 

in  writers  the  "unstudied  simplicity  of  whose  language  ac- 
cords so  well  with  their  emotional  depth,  and  she  is  equally 
rich  in  those  who  are  classed  with  the  acknowledged  mas- 
ters of  German  prose,  for  all  their  specifically  Austrian 
flavor.  We  recognize  this  national  characteristic  and  wel- 
come it  wherever  it  manifests  itself — in  Kikolaus  Lenau, 
the  melancholy  singer  of  the  Hungarian  plain ;  in  Adalbert 
Stifter,  the  idyllic  word  painter  of  lowland  heath  and 
highland  forest;  in  Ernst  von  Feuchtersleben,  the  wise 
physician  and  author  of  the  genially  philosophic  "Dietet- 
ics of  the  Sour^;  in  "Anastasius  Griin"  (Count  Anton 
Auersperg),  the  noble  bard  of  liberty;  in  Eduard  von 
Bauernfeld,  whose  gay  comedies  depict  the  upper  strata  of 
Viennese  life,  as  do  Marie  von  Ebner-Eschenbach's  refined 
and  thoughtful  novels  all  the  various  classes  of  Austrian 
society.  All  these  writers  are  children  of  a  common  father- 
land, which  endowed  them  with  graces  of  its  own,  and  all 
are  akin,  in  sincerity  of  feeling  and  delicacy  of  expres- 
sion, to  their  great  compatriot  Franz  Grillparzer,  alone  on 
his  towering  height. 


Ill 

FEANZ  GEILLPARZER^S  EARLY  YEARS 

Feanz  Grillparzer  was  born  in  Vienna  on  the  15th  of 
January,  1791,  and  died  there  on  the  21st  of  January, 
1872.  Fame  came  to  him  at  the  very  beginning  of  his 
career,  yet  his  long  life,  consistently  devoted  to  high  ideals, 
brought  him  disappointments  such  as  have  fallen  to  the  lot 
of  few  writers  of  his  intellect  and  character.  Prof. 
August  Sauer  has  prefaced  his  standard  biography  of 
the  poet  by  a  telling  characterization  of  the  attitude  of 
the  world  toward  him  during  his  lifetime  and  since  his 
death : 

"Born  in  a  land  which  from  time  immemorial  has  culti- 
vated German  poetry  and  song,  but  which  in  the  march 
of  centuries  had  become  completely  estranged  from  the 
progress  of  German  thought;  reared  during  a  time  of 
political  stress,  when  the  foundations  of  law  and  morality, 
of  hereditary  privileges  and  acquired  rights  were  crum- 
bling; meeting  with  many  obstacles  during  the  period  of 
his  youthful  development,  yet  preserving  his  own  individ- 
uality in  spite  of  conflicting  influences,  the  poet  appeared 

'^  before  the  public,  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  with  a  work  of 
rare  maturity  and  power,  and  became  at  one  bound  the 

\  literary  celebrity  of  his  day,  both  in  his  native  country 
and  the  greater  German  fatherland.  But  not  for  long  did 
the  favor  of  the  fickle  public  remain  true  to  him.     The 


GKILLPAEZER'S  EARLY  YEARS  31 

theatres  of  Germany  soon  closed  their  doors  to  the  Aus- 
trian, and  even  in  his  own  country  he  found  it  difficult  to 
make  his  way.  Koughly  handled  by  shallow  and  thought- 
less critics;  forced  to  defend  his  intellectual  treasures 
against  a  stupidly  insolent  and  tyrannical  censorship ;  en- 
during the  tortures  of  a  melancholy  temperament,  he 
shrank  from  the  world  more  and  more,  and  finally 
lapsed  into  complete  silence  after  his  profoundest  and 
most  characteristic  work  had  met  with  a  bare  sue- 
ces  d'estime,  and  a  remarkable  creation,  revealing  the  hu- 
morous side  of  his  genius,  had  been  hooted  down  by  the 
public  of  the  very  theatre  which  had  witnessed  his  first 
triumph.  And  while,  dejected  and  embittered,  he  gave 
himself  up  to  his  favorite  studies — becoming,  in  his 
seclusion,  a  mere  myth  to  his  contemporaries — a  theatre 
director  of  unusual  energy  and  intelligence  succeeded  in 
winning  back  for  the  Vienna  Burgtheater  play  after 
play  from  the  literary  legacy  of  the  still  living  writer. 
The  author  witnessed  the  belated  flowering  of  his  fame 
with  indifference,  almost  with  disgust;  but  the  homage 
paid  him  by  his  native  city  extended  beyond  its  bounds, 
and  the  remarkable  celebration  of  his  eightieth  birthday 
awakened  all  Germany  from  her  apathetic  attitude  of  so 
many  years.  A  year  later  his  funeral  gave  rise  to 
a  demonstration  such  as  no  German  poet  since  Klop- 
stock  had  evoked.  The  honors  paid  to  his  memory 
in  Austria  were  such  as  had  hitherto  been  reserved  only 
for  the  most  distinguished  and  popular  of  her  military 
heroes,  like  Kadetzky  and  Hess.  The  enthusiasm  thus  en- 
gendered affected  most  deeply  the  rising  generation,  and 
the  year  of  his  death  marked  the  resurrection  of  his  works. 


32     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

With  a  surprise  akin  to  awe  Germany  beheld  a  half- 
forgotten  poet  rise  from  the  shades  of  the  past,  her  literary 
possessions  being  as  it  were  suddenly  enriched  by  the  dis- 
covery of  a  national  classic.  Since  then  the  personality 
of  the  poet  has  aroused  growing  interest,  and  the  re- 
searches of  posterity  have  disclosed  the  powers  of  a  poet 
as  gifted  as  he  was  unfortunate,  whose  life  is  thrown  into 
relief  by  the  background  of  a  singular  historical  epoch 
now  practically  closed  forever." 

United  Germany  is  beginning  to  atone  for  the  indiffer- 
ence with  which  down  to  1870  Berlin,  and  not  Berlin 
alone  among  the  great  centres  of  thought,  regarded  the  in- 
tellectual life  of  Vienna.  More  than  any  other  of  Austria's 

*  men  of  genius,  has  Grillparzer  suffered  from  the  wilful 
neglect  of  the  literary  historians  of  Germany.  During 
a  long  period,  not  only  critics  of  the  stamp  of  Wolfgang 
Menzel — whose  littleness  has  escaped  oblivion  only  be- 
cause he  dared  to  attack  the  great — but  writers  like  Ger- 
vinus  and  Julian  Schmidt  utterly  failed  to  grasp  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  Austrian  dramatist.  Within  recent  years, 
however,  there  has  grown  up  in  Germany  a  Grillparzer 
literature  inferior  in  volume  and  minuteness  of  critical 
research  only  to  that  which  gathers  steadily  around  the 
names  of  Goethe,  Schiller,  Lessing  and  Heine.  Grill 
parzer's  bitter  remark  to  Beethoven:  "Foreign  literary 
men  have  a  prejudice  against  anything  that  comes  from 
Austria;  in  Germany  there  exists  a  veritable  conspiracy 
against  Austrian  writers"  fortunately  finds  no  echo  in 
the  Germany  of  to-day.     All  German-speaking  countries 

^  joined  Austria  in  celebrating  the  centenary  of  Grill- 
parzer's  birth,  in  January,  1891,  when  fifty-five  theatres, 


■\ 


GKILLPAEZER'S  EAELY  YEARS  33 

from  Bukowina  to  the  Baltic  Provinces,  performed  his 
plays. 

International  fairmindedness  has  always  been  slow  in 
making  its  way  into  literature.  Certainly  no  German  has 
as  yet  written  a  history  of  German  literature  that  does  full 
justice  to  Austrian  dramatists — a  history  such  as  an  en-  s 
lightened  foreigner,  like  Taine,  might  have  produced. 
Had  the  brilliant  Frenchman  chosen  to  place  before  the 
world  a  picture  of  what  is  best  and  most  enduring  in  the 
German  drama,  we  should,  in  all  probability,  possess  a 
fairer  estimate  of  the  achievements  of  Grillparzer  than 
has  until  recent  times  been  obtainable  from  any  German 
source.  Whatever  the  defects  of  his  method,  Taine,  who 
pleaded  so  eloquently  for  the  hospitable  interchange  of 
ideas  in  the  realm  of  literature,  who  in  his  "History  of 
English  Literature"  welcomed  the  fact  that  "the  French 
are  beginning  to  comprehend  the  gravity  of  the  Puritans," 
and  who  hoped  that  "perhaps  the  English  will  end  by  com- 
prehending the  gayety  of  Voltaire" — the  French  critic,  in 
comparing  Grillparzer  with  Goethe,  Schiller  and  the  very  / 
few  other  German  dramatists  with  whose  genius  his  may ' 
fitly  be  compared,  would  have  made  adequate  allowance 
for  those  natural,  political  and  social  characteristics  of 
the  country  of  his  birth  that  made  the  Austrian  poet  what 
he  was.  The  Germans  too  long  refused  in  his  case  to  heed 
Goethe's  injunction  to  go  into  the  poet's  land  in  order  to  ' 
understand  the  poet : 

"Wer  den  Dichter  will  verstehen    i 
Muss  in  Dichter's  Lande  gehen."    I 

In  an  oft-quoted  distich  Grillparzer  wrote :  "If  you  look  , 
at  the  country  around  you  from  the  heights  of  the  Kahlen- 


34     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

berg  you  will  understand  what  I  have  written  and  what  I 
am/'  and  but  a  short  time  before  his  death  he  said:  "I 
am  not  a  German,  but  an  Austrian,  of  Lower  Austria,  and 
above  all  am  I  a  Viennese."  And  indeed  it  is  easy  to 
recognize  in  him  the  virtues  and  defects  of  the  typical 

^Viennese,  and  to  trace  in  his  character  and  his  writings  the 
influence  of  his  surroundings  during  that  eventful  period 
of  Austrian  history  that  lies  between  his  birth  and  his 
death — a  period  which  includes  the  wars  against  revolu- 
tionary France,  Austria's  humiliation  by  Bonaparte,  the 
deadening  regime  of  Metternich,  the  liberal  spring-tide 
of  1848,  the  reactionary  gloom  of  the  following  years,  and 
the  catastrophe  of  Sadowa,  which  led  in  1867,  "^ve  years 
before  the  poet's  death,  to  the  transformation  of  the  Haps- 
burg  monarchy  into  the  constitutional  dual  empire  of 
to-day. 

Grillparzer's   life   nearly   equalled    in   length   that   of 

^Goethe,  but  it  was  as  full  of  sad  unrest  as  Goethe's  was 
of  serene  repose.  "Grillparzer,"  says  his  French  biog- 
rapher, Prof.  Auguste  Ehrhard,  "never  knew  that  quiet 
and  smiling  happiness  which  the  Weimar  poet  owed  to 
his  good  fortune,  to  the  advantages  of  a  genius  always  sure 
of  itself,  to  the  balance  and  harmony  of  his  varied  endow- 
ments, and  also,  as  we  must  remember,  to  his  indifference 
to  the  political  destinies  of  his  country.  The  Austrian  poet 
lacked  these  essentials  for  the  enjoyment  of  life.  He 
experienced  bitter  disappointments,  which  all  the  splendor 
of  his  fame  could  not  efface,  and  his  patriotic  heart  suf- 
fered in  every  crisis  through  which  his  country  passed." 

•  Grillparzer  has  revealed  his  inner  life  in  a  remarkable 
autobiography,  which  he  wrote  in  1853,  to  conform  with 


GRILLPARZER^S  EARLY  YEARS  35 

a  usage  of  the  Vienna  Academy  of  Sciences  requiring  its 
members  to  furnish  a  sketch  of  their  lives.  Unfortu- 
nately, his  recollections  close  with  the  year  1836.  There 
is,  however,  much  valuable  autobiographic  material  in 
fragmentary  jottings  and  in  diaries  of  his  travels  in  Italy, 
in  1819;  in  Germany,  in  1826;  in  France  and  England, 
in  1836,  and  in  Greece,  in  1843.  His  "Kecollections  of 
the  Year  1848"  complete  the  direct  record  of  his  life. 

He  was  the  son  of  a  cultured  lawyer  of  high  character, 
but  somewhat  stern  disposition,  who  reminds  us  in  some 
of  his  traits  of  the  old  Councillor  Goethe.  The  boy  in- 
herited from  his  father  the  clearness  of  intellect  which  was 
one  of  his  most  striking  characteristics.  The  early  educa- 
tion he  received  was  desultory,  and  tended  to  the  suppres- 
sion of  his  romantic  and  artistic  instincts.  There  was 
little  intimacy  between  father  and  son.  The  mother,  im- 
pressionable and  affectionate  as  she  was,  entirely  lacked 
the  reposeful  charm  of  "Frau  Aja,"  who  presided  over 
young  Goethe's  home.  She  came  of  a  musical  family  and 
was  herself  passionately  fond  of  music.  Haydn  and 
Mozart  had  frequented  the  house  of  her  father,  Christopher 
Sonnleithner.  He  and  his  two  sons  were  well  known  in 
the  musical  and  theatrical  circles  of  Vienna.  Eranz  in- 
herited his  mother's  musical  talent,  which  afterward 
proved  his  chief  solace,  but,  unfortunately,  along  with  it, 
the  tendency  to  melancholy  which  brooded  over  his  whole 
life. 

He  was  the  oldest  of  four  sons.  He  differed  from  his 
brothers  so  radically  in  character  and  tastes  that  he  grew 
up,  as  he  wrote,  "in  complete  isolation.''  All  his  brothers 
proved  a  source  of  constant  care  to  him.     One  of  them 


36     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

drowned  himself  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  another  became 
insane.  The  brothers  passed  the  years  of  their  childhood 
in  a  gloomy  dwelling  with  enormous  rooms,  into  which 
a  ray  of  sunshine  rarely  penetrated. 

Franz  was  an  omnivorous  reader  from  a  very  early  age. 
A  story  of  the  martyrdom  of  the  saints,  which  fell  into  his 
hands  at  a  country  place,  awakened  in  him  the  desire  to 
become  a  priest  and  rival  their  heroism  in  suffering. 
"When  I  returned  to  town,"  he  relates,  "I  got  myself  a 
priestly  robe  made  of  yellow  paper,  and  read  mass,  my 
oldest  brother  gladly  acting  as  my  assistant.  I  preached 
leaning  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  our  old  cook,  who  lis- 
tened very  devoutly  to  my  nonsense,  being  my  only 
audience.  She  was  also  the  only  listener  I  had  when  I 
played  on  the  piano,  but  she  cared  for  one  piece  only, 
which  she  asked  me  to  play  again  and  again.  At  that 
time  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.  was  still  fresh  in  every- 
body's mind.  Among  other  exercises  I  played  a  march, 
which  I  was  told  had  been  performed  at  the  execution,  and 
in  the  second  part  of  which  there  was  a  run  of  an  octave, 
played  with  one  finger,  that  was  supposed  to  express  the 
drop  of  the  guillotine's  knife.  The  old  woman  always 
wept  copiously  when  I  reached  that  passage,  and  could  not 
hear  it  often  enough." 

The  children  received  scarcely  any  religious  instruction. 
"My  father,"  he  wrote,  "had  been  reared  in  the  period  of 
Joseph  II.  and  did  not  think  much  of  religious  exercises. 
My  mother  attended  mass  every  Sunday ;  she  was  followed 
by  a  man-servant,  who  carried  her  prayer  book;  but  we 
children  never  entered  church.  I  remember  that  later  on, 
at  the  gymnasium,  where  every  schoolday  began  with  mass. 


GEILLPARZER'S  EARLY  YEARS  37 

I,  in  my  savage  ignorance,  had  to  watch  my  comrades  in 
order  to  know  when  to  rise,  to  kneel,  or  to  beat  the  breast." 

Young  Grillparzer  shared  Goethe's  early  and  intense  in- 
terest in  the  theatre.  He  and  his  brothers  acted  in  roman- 
tic plays  improvised  by  him,  and  manufactured  their  own 
knightly  armor  and  the  stage  settings.  He  was  inspired  by  a 
dramatic  library  which  he  found  among  his  father's  books, 
and  which  included  "Hamlet"  and  "King  Lear,"  but  none 
of  the  plays  of  Schiller  and  Goethe.  Lessing's  "Nathan 
der  Weise"  he  did  not  find  to  his  liking.  Among  other 
books  which  fascinated  him  were  translations  of  Cook's 
"Voyages,"  Buffon's  "Natural  History"  and,  above  all, 
Guthrie  and  Gray's  "Universal  History,"  which  he  "de- 
voured rather  than  read."  The  first  German  poets  he  be- 
came acquainted  with  were  Gessner  and  Ewald  Kleist. 
When  at  last  a  volume  of  Goethe  fell  into  his  hands,  he 
was  charmed  with  the  hero  of  "Gotz  von  Berlichingen," 
but  did  not  much  care  for  the  other  characters.  Nor  did 
he  fully  appreciate  Schiller's  plays.  He  read  "Wallen- 
stein's  Lager"  eagerly,  but  the  "Piccolomini"  he  found 
dull,  because  of  the  long  speeches.  He  preferred  a 
translation  of  Gozzi's  "Eaven"  to  all  the  dramas  of  Goethe, 
Schiller  and  Shakespeare.  The  boy  became  early  aware 
that  he  was  hampered  in  his  dramatic  recitations  by 
a  lisp,  an  inherited  defect  which  he  later  overcame  by 
imitating  the  example  of  Demosthenes. 

Neither  at  the  gymnasium  nor  at  the  university  was 
Grillparzer  remarkable  for  scholarship  or  application,  but 
he  soon  became  known  among  his  fellow-students  and  to 
some  of  his  professors  for  his  literary  gifts.  His  father 
discouraged  the  youthful  author,  although  he  took  a  cer- 


38     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AIJSTEIAN  DEAMA 

tain  pride  in  his  talent.  He  generally  wound  up  his 
criticism  of  his  son's  productions  by  predicting  that  he 
would  die  a  pauper's  death.  "My  father's  displeasure," 
wrote  Grillparzer,  "reached  its  height  at  the  time  of  the 
first  occupation  of  Vienna  by  the  French,  after  our  dis- 
astrous campaign.  My  patriotic  ardor,  stimulated  by  my 
father's  own  attitude,  prompted  me  to  ridicule  the  absurd 
measures  of  the  government  in  a  wretched  song.  When  I 
read  it  to  him  he  turned  pale  with  fright,  represented  to 
me  that  I  ran  the  risk  of  imperilling  my  future  by  such 
verses,  and  implored  me  not  to  show  them  to  any  one, 
though  he  did  not  tell  me  to  destroy  them,  which  fact,  as  I 
thought,  proved  that  he  was  not  altogether  displeased  with 
them."  In  some  unexplained  way  the  poem  had  already 
fallen  into  strange  hands,  for  the  next  day  his  father  re- 
turned in  dismay  from  the  restaurant  where  he  occasion- 
ally took  a  glass  of  beer  in  the  evening,  and  told  the  boy 
that  the  poem  had  been  read  aloud  by  one  of  the  guests  and 
met  with  general  approval.  "The  doggerel,"  wrote  Grill- 
parzer, "went  the  rounds  of  the  city,  in  spite  or  rather  be- 
cause of  its  uncouth  plainness  of  speech,  but  fortunately 
no  one  guessed  the  name  of  the  author."  The  verses,  en- 
titled "Schlecht  und  Kecht"  (Wrong  and  Eight),  are  in- 
cluded in  Grillparzer' s  collected  poems,  and  testify  alike  to 
his  fervent  patriotism  and  a  skill  in  versification  remark- 
able in  a  boy  of  fourteen. 

Under  the  influence  of  Schiller's  "Don  Carlos,"  Grill- 
parzer began,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  a  drama,  "Blanka  von 
Kastilien,"  which  he  finished  two  years  later.  It  deals 
with  the  fate  of  the  queen  of  Pedro  the  Cruel,  and  is 
chiefly  interesting  as  foreshadowing  certain  psychological 


GKILLPARZER'S  EARLY  YEARS  39 

problems  which  he  introduced  in  later  dramas.  "Blanka" 
resembles  "Don  Carlos"  in  being  far  too  long  to  be  per- 
formed in  one  evening.  Though  not  without  dramatic 
promise,  it  is  crude  and  prosy.  Grillparzer's  early  power 
of  self -analysis  is  shown  in  his  own  condemnation  of  the 
play,  in  1808,  as  one  that  could  never  be  acted.  His  mind 
was  occupied  with  half-a-dozen  ambitious  dramatic 
schemes,  but  he  finished  only,  in  1811,  a  little  comedy, 
"Wer  ist  schuldig?"  (Who  is  Guilty?),  which  reminds 
one  of  Korner^s  one-act  plays. 

Grillparzer,  like  Goethe,  studied  law  to  please  his 
father,  but  like  him,  also,  he  derived  the  principal  inspi- 
ration of  his  college  years  from  contact  with  gifted  fellow- 
students.  Kant's  philosophy  was  the  subject  of  heated  dis- 
cussion at  social  gatherings  in  their  rooms.  One  of  his 
closest  friends,  Altmiitter,  who  afterwards  became  profes- 
sor of  chemistry  in  the  Vienna  Institute  of  Technology, 
anticipated,  according  to  Grillparzer,  Sir  Humphry 
Davy  in  a  discovery  concerning  the  nature  of  alkalies. 
"Altmiitter  and  I,"  wrote  Grillparzer  in  his  autobiog- 
raphy, "were  among  the  very  laziest  students,  and  really 
cared  only  for  discussions.  We  loved  to  stroll  among  the 
beautiful  surroundings  of  Vienna,  indulging  in  the  most 
extravagant  plans  for  the  future.  Thus  we  stood  one  day 
upon  the  heights  of  the  Kahlenberg,  behind  us  the  pedestal 
of  some  lost  statue.  We  mounted  the  altar-like  block  with 
a  feeling  of  almost  godlike  importance,  and,  embracing 
each  other,  looked  out  upon  the  vast  panorama  spread  be- 
fore us.  Unnoticed  by  us,  an  elderly  gentleman,  evidently 
a  North  German,  had  climbed  the  height,  and  standing 
near  us,  regarded  us  with  astonishment,     ^Yes,'  said  Alt- 


40     GKILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

miitter  to  him,  as  we  descended,  ^do  not  wonder.  This  one 
— pointing  to  me — will  raise  a'  temple,  and  I  shall  tear  one 
down.'  As  for  the  latter,  he  meant  Lavoisier's  system  of 
chemistry.  The  gentleman  probably  thought  he  had  two 
lunatics  before  him." 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  Grillparzer  experienced  the  first 
pangs  of  love.  The  object  of  his  devotion  was  an  actress 
at  one  of  the  minor  theatres,  of  the  same  age  as  himself. 
He  had  an  exalted  idea  of  both  her  person  and  her  ac- 
complishments, and  when  he  learned  that  her  character 
was  not  above  reproach,  and  saw  her  at  the  theatre  in  a 
box,  in  the  company  of  an  old  man,  he  was  so  greatly 
shocked  that  he  became  ill.  He  saw  and  heard  around 
him  at  an  early  day  much  that  was  objectionable,  but  "an 
innate  sense  of  shame,"  he  wrote,  "preserved  me  from 
following  the  bad  example  given  me  by  my  comrades.  This 
— shall  I  call  it  sense  of  honor  ? — ^was  so  strong  in  me  that 
it  did  not  even  permit  me  to  cut  my  lessons  at  school.  To 
the  best  of  my  knowledge,  I  have  never  missed  a  lecture." 
Another  youthful  love  episode  is  worth  recording. 

"Several  years  afterwards,"  he  relates,  "I  fell  in  love 
(with  a  singer,  who,  as  Cherubin  in  Mozart's  Tigaro,'  in 
all  the  charm  of  her  youthful  beauty,  and  transfigured  by 
the  glorious  music,  took  complete  possession  of  my  imagi- 
nation. I  wrote  a  poem  to  her  which  may  be  called  good, 
although  its  passionate  fervor  bordered  somewhat  on  the 
insane,  or  even  on  the  immoral.  However,  it  never  en- 
tered my  mind  to  approach  her  in  person.  I  was  at  that 
time  in  the  poorest  circumstances,  as  was  evidenced  by  my 
wardrobe,  while  the  object  of  my  passion  was  decked  in 
silk  and  gold,  the  daily  gifts  of  her  numerous  admirers. 


GRILLPAEZEK'S  EAKLY  YEARS  41 

ISTor  could  I  assume  that  the  charms  of  my  person  might 
predispose  her  in  my  favor.  I  therefore  locked  up  my 
verses  with  a  keen  feeling  of  my  humbleness,  and  nothing 
in  the  world  could  have  tempted  me  to  speak  of  my  senti- 
ments to  any  one.  Long  after,  I  met  a  young  and  wealthy 
man,  who  had  been  during  the  period  of  my  Cherubin 
frenzy  one  of  the  favored  admirers  of  my  heroine,  that  is 
to  say,  one  of  those  who  paid  her  tribute  in  solid  coin.  We 
talked  of  poetry,  and  he  remarked  how  queer  it  was  that 
poets  whose  first  productions  manifested  decided  talent  so 
often  disappeared  from  public  view  forever.  Thus  he  re- 
membered to  have  seen — he  did  not  know  in  what  way — 
at  the  time  of  his  acquaintanceship  with  that  singer,  a 
poem  professing  the  most  ardent  love  for  her  in  the  most 
beautiful  verses.  The  girl  became  almost  frantic  on  read- 
ing them,  and  used  every  effort  to  find  out  who  the  author 
was,  declaring  that  if  she  succeeded  she  would  dismiss  all 
her  admirers,  in  order  to  grant  to  the  unknown  poet  the 
favor  he  craved  in  such  beautiful  language.  This  decla- 
ration, he  said,  almost  caused  a  rupture  between  them.  At 
the  present  day,  he  went  on  to  say,  there  was  not  a  poet 
before  the  public  able  to  write  such  verses.  I  asked  him 
to  show  me  the  poem,  and  sure  enough  it  was  my  own.  In 
a  manner  unaccountable  to  me  it  had  found  its  way  to  her, 
and  while  I  was  consumed  with  hopeless  longing,  the 
beautiful  object  of  my  desires  awaited  with  impatience 
an  opportunity  of  meeting  me.  But  such  has  been  my  fate 
throughout  life — want  of  confidence  in  myself  whenever 
I  was  undecided  how  to  act,  alternating  with  haughty 
pride  whenever  I  was  disparaged  or  compared  with  some 
one  else  to  my  disadvantage."    The  poem,  under  the  titlQ 


42     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

"Chembin,"  has  a  place  in  the  collected  works,  and  is  in- 
deed remarkable  for  its  glowing  passion,  unreservedly, 
though  not  indelicately,  expressed. 

The  growing  ill-health  of  his  father  awoke  the  young 
student  from  his  life  of  careless  ease.  In  his  melancholy 
mood  he  took  up  once  more  the  study  of  music,  which  he 
had  neglected  for  years.  But  he  had  forgotten  all  he  ever 
knew,  and  nothing  remained  but  the  ability  to  improvise. 
"Often,''  he  wrote,  "I  placed  a  copper  engraving  upon  the 
music  stand  before  me  and  played  what  the  subject  sug- 
gested, as  though  it  were  a  musical  composition.  I  remem- 
ber that  later  on,  while  I  was  a  tutor  in  the  house  of  a  noble 
family,  the  violin  teacher  of  the  young  count,  a  musician 
of  high  standing,  listened  to  me  behind  the  door  for  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  at  a  time,  and  on  entering  the  room  could 
not  praise  me  enough.  The  count's  possessions  included 
only  an  old  piano  without  strings;  nevertheless,  I  often 
played  upon  it  for  half  a  day,  without  intermission,  and 
regardless  of  the  absence  of  sound.  Later  on,  when  I  de- 
voted myself  to  poetry,  the  gift  of  musical  improvisation 
gradually  diminished,  particularly  after  I  took  lessons  in 
counterpoint,  in  order  to  systematize  my  thoughts.  My 
progress  and  development  become  more  satisfactory,  but  I 
lost  inspiration,  and  now  I  know  but  little  more  than  when 
my  fondness  for  music  first  awoke.  I  had  always  this 
strange  peculiarity,  that  in  passing  from  one  subject  to 
another,  I  lost  my  fondness  for  the  former,  and  with  it 
/  whatever  ability  for  it  I  possessed,  and  what  skill  in  it  I 
had  acquired.  I  have  cultivated  whatever  a  man  can  do. 
Dancing,  hunting,  riding,  fencing,  drawing,  swimming — 
there  was  nothing  too  difficult  for  me.   Yes,  I  may  say  that, 


GKILLPAEZER'S  EAELY  YEAES  43 

with  the  exception  of  hunting,  I  cultivated  everything  with 
decided  talent,  and  yet  I  have  been  weaned  from  all  these 
things.  Thus  I  was  one  of  the  best,  or  at  least  one  of  the 
most  elegant,  of  swimmers,  but  if  I  were  thrown  into  the 
water  to-day,  I  should  certainly  drown.  Inspiration  has 
been  my  deity,  and  thus  it  will  always  be." 

During  his  father's  illness  he  set  to  music  a  number  of 
songs,  among  them  Goethe's  "Konig  von  Thule,"  which  the 
sufferer  never  tired  of  hearing.  The  father's  decline  was 
rapid.  His  illness  was  the  result  of  his  patriotic  sorrow 
over  the  political  misfortunes  of  Austria,  which  the  son 
also  keenly  felt.  The  young  man  enrolled  himself  in  the 
student  corps  which  in  1809  was  organized  to  defend  the 
city  against  the  French  invaders.  Grillparzer's  father  was 
financially  ruined  by  the  social  disorganization  following 
the  military  disasters,  and  the  national  downfall  broke  his 
heart.  After  he  read  the  provisions  of  the  humiliating 
peace  of  Pressburg,  he  was  a  changed  man.  ^^When,  im- 
pelled by  a  presentiment  of  his  approaching  end,  I  sank 
on  my  knees  at  his  bedside  and,  weeping,  kissed  his  hand, 
he  said :  ^It  is  now  too  late,'  doubtless  wishing  to  convey 
to  me  that  he  was  not  fully  satisfied  with  my  character  and 
my  doings."  "I  never  really  loved  my  father,"  adds 
Grillparzer,  ^'he  was  too  forbidding  in  manner.  Just  as 
he  most  rigidly  suppressed  his  own  emotions,  so  he  made  it 
almost  impossible  for  any  one  to  approach  him  with  any 
display  of  sentiment.  Only  later  on,  when  I  learned  to  ap- 
preciate the  motives  of  some  of  his  actions,  and  when  I  re- 
joiced in  the  reputation — which  lives  on  to  this  day — of 
his  almost  incredible  honesty,  and  was  thereby  inspired  to 
emulate,  however  feebly,  his  own  example,  only  then  did 


44     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

I  pay  to  his  memory  the  debt  incurred  during  his  life- 
time.'' 

The  death  of  the  father  left  the  family  almost  absolutely 
without  means.  Two  of  the  sons  earned  a  living  by  giving 
music  lessons,  and  Franz,  who  was  then  in  his  eighteenth 
year,  and  had  still  two  years  of  law  study  before  him,  acted 
as  tutor  to  two  young  noblemen,  and  was  thus  enabled  to 
contribute  to  the  support  of  his  mother,  4  He  bethought 
himself  of  his  tragedy  "Blanka  von  Kastilien,''  and  offered 
it  to  the  secretary  of  the  Burgtheater,  Herr  Sonnleithner, 
his  mother's  brother.  The  play  was  returned  to  him  with 
the  curt  remark  that  it  was  unfit  for  performance,  and  the 
young  author,  remembering  his  father's  prophecy,  re- 
solved to  renounce  forever  all  dreams  of  a  literary  career. 
Meantime,  he  had  lost  his  pupils,  but  one  of  his  former 
professors  offered  him  a  position  as  tutor  in  jurisprudence 
to  the  nephew  of  a  wealthy  count.  The  young  man  had 
another  teacher  for  his  general  studies,  and  Grillparzer 
was  only  required  to  give  him  a  few  hours  of  special  in- 
struction daily. 

"I  got  into  a  queer  family,"  he  writes  in  his  autobiog- 
raphy. "The  young  count,  of  about  my  own  age,  who  is 
still  living,  will  not  think  ill  of  me  if  I  say  in  this  place 
that  our  studies,  probably  as  much  through  my  fault  as 
through  his  own,  amounted  to  very  little.  The  old  uncle 
was  a  veritable  caricature,  frightfully  ignorant  and  arro- 
gant, self-willed,  stingy,  and  bigoted.  Having  formerly 
been  ambassador  at  one  of  the  more  important  German 
courts  and  imperial  commissary  at  Ratisbon,  he  loved  to 
talk  of  his  missions.  I  have  called  him  stingy,  but  he  was 
not  so  in  regard  to  two  matters — his  stable  and  the  kitchen. 


GEILLPARZER'S  EARLY  YEARS  45 

In  the  former  he  kept  a  number  of  magnificent  steeds, 
which,  from  excessive  care  for  them,  he  hardly  ever  used. 
Over  the  kitchen  presided  alternately  two  cooks  of  the  first 
quality,  a  German  and  a  Frenchman.  I  won  the  count's 
favor  through  my  appetite,  then  highly  developed.  Every 
day,  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  he  entered  my 
room  in  his  soiled  dressing-gown,  in  order  to  read  to  me 
the  menu  and  to  lay  out  a  sort  of  plan  of  campaign — ^how 
much  was  to  be  eaten  of  one  dish  and  how  little  of  an- 
other, in  order  to  leave  room  for  the  next  and  more  tempt- 
ing course.  I  was  on  the  road  to  becoming  an  epicure  in 
this  house,  although  finally  only  too  glad  to  return  to  my 
mother's  simple  fare.  In  spite  of  all  the  favor  I  gained 
in  this  way,  I  was  considered  by  the  count  a  Jacobin, 
which  title  he  applied  to  anybody  who  had  opinions  differ- 
ent from  his  o^vn.  His  wife — ^we  called  her  the  princess 
because  she  came  of  a  princely  family — passed  her  time  in 
devotional  exercises,  and  drove  to  church  every  day  as 
many  times  as  her  husband  permitted  her  to  hitch  up,  in 
due  rotation,  the  splendid  show  horses." 

Grillparzer  enjoyed,  on  the  whole,  his  leisurely  employ- 
ment. He  made  abundant  use  of  the  library,  particularly 
rich  in  English  books,  which  the  count's  grandfather  had 
brought  from  London,  where  he  had  been  ambassador.  'No 
one  else  in  the  house  ever  looked  at  a  book,  and  the 
only  difficulty-  in  using  the  library  to  his  heart's  con- 
tent lay  in  turning  the  rusty  key  of  the  library  room. 
Grillparzer's  first  care  was  to  perfect  his  knowledge  of 
English,  which  he  had  some  time  before  begun  to  study  by 
himself,  in  order  to  be  able  to  read  Shakespeare  in  the 
original.    In  the  summer  he  went  with  the  family  to  their 


46    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

estates  in  Moravia.  The  other  tutor  having  been  dismissed, 
he  had  to  take  entire  charge  of  his  pupil.  He  accompanied 
him  daily  to  church  and  took  along  with  him  the  "Yicar  of 
Wakefield,"  which  the  family,  from  the  name  of  "Vicar'' 
on  the  title-page,  supposed  to  be  a  devotional  book  of  some 
sort.  In  the  winter  he  returned  with  the  young  count  to 
the  city  and  continued  as  his  tutor,  although  he  had 
found,  in  February,  1813,  an  unsalaried  position  in  the 
imperial  library  of  Vienna.  During  the  following  sum- 
mer months,  when  the  library  was  closed,  Grillparzer 
again  joined  his  pupil  at  a  castle  of  the  family  in  Moravia. 
Nearby  there  was  a  famous  shrine,  Maria  Stip,  much 
frequented  by  pious  pilgrims.  He  was  compelled  to  ac- 
company the  countess  on  one  of  her  visits  to  the  church, 
and  caught  a  chill  there.  The  count's  surgeon,  suspecting 
a  contagious  disease,  advised  that  the  patient  be  isolated, 
and  had  him  sent  to  a  lonely  hut  near  Maria  Stip,  where 
the  village  barber  used  to  cup  those  of  the  pilgrims  who  re- 
quired his  attention.  For  a  time  the  surgeon  came  to  see 
Grillparzer,  but  soon  his  visits  ceased,  and  he  was  left  in 
charge  of  the  village  barber.  His  illness  grew  desperate 
and  he  himself  believed  that  his  end  was  near.  When  he 
finally  recovered  and  was  able  to  journey  home  he  heard 
of  the  battle  of  Leipsic.  The  noble  family  had  fled  from 
the  estate.  His  money  was  gone ;  he  had  seen  during  his 
illness  a  woman  open  the  drawer  in  which  it  lay,  but 
thought  he  was  dreaming.  He  borrowed,  however,  enough 
for  the  trip,  which  was  retarded  by  the  confusion  into 
which  the  country  had  been  thrown.  "No  postmaster,  no 
postilion,  no  innkeeper  or  waiter  was  to  be  found.  Every- 
body was  in  the  streets.    The  newspapers  were  read  aloud 


GEILLPAEZEE'S  EARLY  YEARS  47 

publicly,  people  embraced,  rejoiced,  wept,  the  millennium 
seemed  to  have  arrived." 

On  his  return  to  Vienna  he  made  the  impression  of  one 
returned  from  the  dead.  When  he  called  on  the  family  of 
his  pupil  he  discovered  "not  a  trace  of  shame  or  repentance 
on  their  aristocratic  faces,  although  there  was  a  certain 
embarrassment  in  their  manner."  They  had  engaged  a 
tutor  for  the  young  count,  but  were  willing  to  have  Grill- 
parzer  continue  his  special  instruction.  He  resumed  his 
task,  devoting  himself  at  the  same  time  heart  and  soul  to 
the  study  of  languages  in  the  imperial  library,  where  his 
official  duties  were  of  the  lightest.  The  condition  of  things 
there  was  characteristic  of  the  easy-going  ways  of 
Viennese  officialdom. 

"The  employees,  mostly  good-natured  persons,  con- 
ducted themselves  pretty  much  as  might  old  invalid  soldiers 
in  an  armory;  they  preserved  what  they  found  on  hand, 
showed  rare  things  to  visitors,  used  the  slim  appropriations 
for  the  purchase  of  all  imaginable  editions  of  the  classics 
and  kept  away,  as  far  as  possible,  all  forbidden,  that  is  to 
say,  all  modem,  books.  Systematic  library  work  was  out 
of  the  question.  All  this  suited  me  perfectly.  My  first 
care  was  to  add  to  my  knowledge  of  Greek,  which  I  and 
my  colleague  Eichenfeld  studied  diligently.  In  order  to 
be  imdisturbed,  we  went  into  the  manuscript  room  of  the 
library,  and  there,  surrounded  by  all  the  necessary  material, 
we  read  the  Greek  writers.  This  lasted  for  some  time, 
until  the  first  custodian  of  the  institution,  an  intolerable 
ignoramus,  himself  without  the  ability  or  desire  to  use  a 
manuscript,  got  wind  of  our  doings  and,  impelled  by  envy 
at  the  thought  of  our  possibly  editing  a  manuscript — a 


48     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

thing  lie  could  not  dream  of  doing — forbade  ns  from  enter- 
ing the  manuscript  room. 

"I  had  in  the  meantime  also  devoted  myself  to  another 
language,  the  study  of  which  I  had  begun  some  time  pre- 
viously, and  which  was  to  have  the  most  important  in- 
fluence on  my  future  career.  I  had  always  had  a  convic- 
tion that  a  poet  could  not  be  translated  into  another  lan- 
guage. In  spite  of  my  bad  memory,  I  had  therefore  ac- 
quired, in  addition  to  the  two  ancient  languages  and  the  in- 
dispensable French,  a  knowledge  of  Italian  and  English; 
and  at  a  very  early  age,  attracted  by  Bertuch's  transla- 
tion of  Don  Quixote  and  his  remarks  about  Spanish  poets, 
I  had  begun  the  study  of  Spanish.  I  had  stumbled  upon 
a  very  ancient  Spanish  grammar,  so  ancient  as  to  antedate 
Lope  de  Vega  and  Calderon  and  to  compel  me  later  on  to 
unlearn  and  modify  the  rules  thus  acquired.  Owing  to 
lack  of  money,  I  was  without  a  dictionary  until  I  picked 
up  at  a  second-hand  bookshop  a  volume  of  Sobrino,  which 
it  is  true  was  minus  the  entire  letter  A,  but  which  on  that 
account  was  offered  for  one  florin  in  paper  money.  This 
was  scarcely  a  sufficient  equipment  for  the  serious  study  of 
the  language.  About  that  time  there  appeared  SchlegeFs 
translation  of  some  of  the  plays  of  Calderon,  among 
which  his  ^Devotion  at  the  Cross'  chiefly  attracted  me. 
However  admirable  I  considered  Schlegel's  translation 
of  Shakespeare,  that  of  Calderon's  plays  appeared  to  me 
entirely  inadequate.  That  a  writer  who  in  his  imagina- 
tive flights  soared  almost  beyond  the  reach  of  poesy  could 
not  have  indulged  in  such  stiff  and  awkward  phrases, 
was  perfectly  clear  to  me.  Armed  with  all  the  resources 
of  the  imperial  library,  I  threw  myself  with  ardor  into 
the  study  of  Spanish,   and  attacked  it  where  the  diffi- 


GRILLPARZER'S  EARLY  YEARS  49 

culties  were  greatest,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  plays  of  Cal- 
deron.  In  order  not  to  pass  lightly  over  obstacles,  and  to 
force  myself  to  look  up  every  new  word  in  the  dictionary, 
I  resolved  to  translate  the  play  I  had  chosen,  Ta  vida  es 
sueiio,'  rendering  it,  passage  for  passage,  at  once  into 
German  verse  and  even,  following  the  original,  into  rhyme. 
How  much  time  I  consumed  in  this  tedious  labor  I  do 
not  know;  at  all  events  I  did  not  get  beyond  half  of  the 
first  act ;  but  that  sufficed,  as  the  only  object  of  my  trans- 
lation was  the  study  of  the  language." 

It  so  happened  that  this  very  play  of  Calderon's  was 
then  about  to  be  performed  in  Vienna,  and  when  Grill- 
parzer  mentioned  to  a  friend  that  he  had  himself  tried 
his  hand  at  translating  it,  he  was  induced  by  him  to  lend 
him  the  manuscript,  and,  finally,  to  allow  the  Moden- 
zeitung,  an  influential  literary  journal,  to  print  it.  Grill- 
parzer's  translation  appeared  the  day  after  the  first  per- 
formance of  Calderon's  play,  and  was  lauded  to  the  skies 
by  the  editor  of  the  Modenzeitung,  to  the  disparagement 
of  the  other  translation.  The  author  of  the  latter  was 
"Karl  August  West/'  the  pseudonym  of  Joseph  Schrey- 
vogel,  the  able  secretary  and  artistic  manager  of  the 
imperial  theatre  at  Vienna.  Schreyvogel,  who  knew 
Grillparzer's  family,  but  had  never  met  Franz,  was 
deeply  chagrined  at  the  thought  that  the  young  man  should 
lend  himself  to  a  malicious  personal  attack  on  him.  When 
he  learned  that  the  translator  was  entirely  guiltless  of 
any  such  purpose,  he  expressed  a  desire  to  make  his  ac- 
quaintance, and  from  their  first  meeting  dated  the  begin- 
ning of  the  close  relations  between  Grillparzer  and 
Schreyvogel  which  ended  only  with  the  death  of  the  latter. 


IV 

DIE  AHNFBAU 

Ih"  the  course  of  their  first  conversation  Schreyvogel 
praised  Grillparzer's  translation  very  highly,  and  asked 
whether  he  had  ever  thought  of  writing  an  original 
drama.  The  young  man  confessed  that  he  had  com- 
posed an  ^^endless  tragedy"  in  his  boyhood  days,  but 
had  since  given  up  all  thought  of  dramatic  composi- 
tion. He  finally  admitted,  however,  that  he  had  recently 
thought  of  some  plot,  based  on  the  story  of  a  French 
robber  who  made  love  to  a  maiden  ignorant  of  his  charac- 
ter and  antecedents.  This  incident  he  had  combined  with 
an  old  fairy  story  of  a  young  girl,  the  last  descendant 
of  a  noble  family,  who  bore  so  great  a  resemblance  to  the 
spectre  of  her  own  ancestress  that  the  girl's  lover  alter- 
nately took  one  for  the  other.  This  plot  he  related 
with  so  much  animation  as  to  infect  Schreyvogel,  who  ex- 
claimed enthusiastically :  "The  play  is  ready,  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  write  it  down."  He  overruled  all  the  objections 
interposed  by  the  young  writer,  who  promised  to  "think 
about  it."  The  play  was  to  be  called  "Die  Ahnfrau"  (The 
Ancestress). 

In  the  meantime  Grillparzer's  pecuniary  prospects  had 
somewhat  improved.  Through  the  instrumentality  of 
Count  Herberstein,  a  high  official  of  the  finance  depart- 
ment, who  had  known  his  father,  he  had  been  induced  to 
give  up  the  unsalaried  position  in  the  imperial  library 


DIE  AHNFRAU  61 

and  enter  the  government  service  in  the  customs  depart- 
ment, where  he  was  entrusted  with  the  duty  of  cross-exam- 
ining smugglers  and  other  offenders  against  the  custom 
laws.  He  rather  enjoyed  his  present  life,  as  contrasted 
with  his  uncongenial  duties  as  instructor  to  the  young 
count  and  as  subordinate  of  the  tyrannical  custodian,  and 
he  forgot  all  about  the  promise  to  write  a  drama.  One 
day,  while  taking  a  walk,  he  met  Schreyvogel,  who  called 
to  him  from  a  distance,  "How  about  your  play?''  The 
young  man  answered  sadly:  "I  can't  write  at  all." 

"Schreyvogel,"  says  Grillparzer,  "formerly  the  pos- 
sessor of  considerable  wealth,  which  he  lost  as  an  art 
dealer,  had,  toward  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
through  his  acquaintance  with  the  victims  of  the  French 
Revolution,  incurred  the  suspicion  of  being  attached  to  its 
principles.  Although  nothing  could  be  proved  against 
him,  he  found  it  advisable,  with  the  sanction  of  the  au- 
thorities, to  leave  Vienna  for  a  time.  He  went  to  Jena 
and  Weimar,  where  he  remained  for  several  years,  in 
somewhat  close  contact  with  the  great  literary  personages 
of  Germany. 

"When  I  told  him:  'I  can't  write  at  all,'  he  replied: 
*That  is  just  the  answer  I  gave  Goethe  when  he  encouraged 
me  to  do  literary  work;  but  he  told  me  to  roll  up  my 
sleeves  and  go  ahead.' 

"The  words  of  the  great  master  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  me.  If,  after  making  all  possible  allowance  for  the 
difference  in  native  endowment,  others  could  succeed  by 
merely  ^rolling  up  their  sleeves,'  why  should  I  be  doomed 
to  failure?  My  very  soul  rebelled  against  such  an  as- 
sumption.   Continuing  my  walk  alone,  I  pondered  over  the 


52     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

^Ahnfrau/  but  accomplished  nothing  beyond  the  first 
eight  or  ten  lines,  written  in  trochaic  metre,  which  I  had 
become  fond  of  through  my  acquaintance  with  Calderon. 

"When  I  came  home  and  had  eaten  my  supper,  I  wrote 
down  those  eight  or  ten  lines,  without  any  particular  pur- 
pose in  view,  and  went  to  bed.  A  peculiar  mental  commo- 
tion arose  within  me.  I  was  seized  with  a  fever.  During 
the  entire  night  I  threw  myself  from  side  to  side.  I  had 
hardly  fallen  asleep  when  I  started  up  again.  And  yet 
all  this  time  I  had  no  thought  of  the  ^Ahnfrau,'  nor  of 
any  part  of  its  plot. 

"In  the  morning  I  rose  as  one  who  feels  a  severe  illness 
coming  on.  I  breakfasted  with  my  mother  and  went  back 
to  my  room.  Suddenly  my  eye  caught  the  paper  with  the 
verses  written  down  the  day  before,  which  I  had  com- 
pletely forgotten.  I  sat  down  and  wrote  on  and  on, 
thought  and  verse  coming  as  if  of  their  own  accord,  as  fast 
as  my  pen  could  travel.  The  next  day  I  had  the  same  ex- 
perience, and  in  three  or  four  days  the  first  act  was  ready, 
almost  without  an  erasure. 

"I  instantly  ran  to  Schreyvogel,  to  read  to  him  what  I 
had  written.  He  expressed  himself  as  most  satisfied,  and 
urged  me  now  more  than  ever  to  continue.  The  second 
and  third  acts  were  written  in  the  same  way.  I  remember 
that  I  wrote  the  great  scene  in  which  Jaromir  persuades 
Bertha  to  flee,  from  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  five  in 
the  evening,  without  a  pause  and  without  eating  a  bite.  At 
breakfast  time  and  at  noon  my  mother  knocked  in  vain  at 
my  door.  Only  toward  evening  did  I  leave  my  room, 
then  strolled  over  the  city  ramparts,  and  late  at  night  I 
took  my  dinner. 


DIE  AHNFKAU  53 

"Suddenly  cold  weather  set  in,  and  it  seemed  as  though 
I  had  lost  all  ability  to  think.  I  betook  myself  sadly  to 
Schreyvogel,  and  told  him  that  I  knew  I  could  not  go  on. 
But  he  assured  me  that  I  would  soon  do  better,  and  so  it 
happened.  After  an  interruption  of  two  or  three  days  I 
finished  the  play  as  rapidly  as  I  had  begun  it.  I  wrote  it 
in  not  more  than  fifteen  or  sixteen  days,  and  then  handed 
it  to  Schreyvogel,  to  have  him  decide  as  to  whether  it  could 
be  performed.  When  I  called  after  a  few  days  for  his 
opinion,  I  found  that  he  had  cooled  down  very  materially. 
Schreyvogel  had  an  excellent  mind;  he  was  in  some  re- 
spects, with  all  due  allowances,  a  sort  of  Lessing.  But  in 
addition  to  his  logical  acumen  he  had  this  trait  in  common 
with  his  prototype,  that  his  artistic  principles  were  the  re- 
sult of  the  study  of  models,  rather  than  of  his  own  spon- 
taneous views.  He  was  now  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  my 
moon-calf  and  seemed  nervous.  It  was  not  that  he  rejected 
the  spectral  apparitions  or  the  so-called  idea  of  fate,  but  he 
demanded  that  the  latter  be  properly  developed,  especially 
the  fact,  scarcely  touched  upon  by  me,  that  the  family  in 
the  play  w^ere  the  direct  descendants  of  the  sinful  ances- 
tress. As  I  could  not  agree  with  his  views,  he  offered  to 
rewrite  the  play  and  make  of  it  a  joint  production.  But 
against  this  I  protested;  it  was  to  be  either  my  play  or 
else  not  to  be  performed  at  all." 

Grillparzer,  however,  finally  made  the  changes  suggested 
by  Schreyvogel.  The  objections  to  the  play  raised  by  the 
public  censor  were  overcome  by  influential  friends  of  the 
celebrated  actress,  Mme.  Schroeder,  who  had  chosen  the 
first  performance  for  her  benefit.  The  Theater  an  der 
Wien,  which  was  also  under  the  direction  of  Schreyvogel, 


64    GEILLPARZEK  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

had  among  its  actors  one  or  two  persons  who  seemed  par- 
ticularly qualified  for  the  parts  in  the  ^^Ahnfrau,"  and 
that  stage  was  therefore  chosen  for  its  performance,  rather 
than  the  Burgtheater. 

"At  last,"  write  3  Grillparzer,  "came  the  day  of  the  first 
performance  (January  31,  1817).  I  could  not  be  induced 
to  let  my  name  appear  on  the  play-bills.  All  the  street 
corners  contained  placards  with  the  anouncement  of  ^Die 
Ahnfrau,  a  tragedy  in  ^ve  acts/  but  without  the  name  of 
the  author.  This  in  itself  was  not  a  good  omen.  The 
theatre  was  half  empty  and  the  cash  receipts  were  poor,  a 
fact  which  Mme.  Schroeder — although  she  needed  money 
badly — ^never  remembered  to  my  discredit;  on  the  con- 
trary, she  behaved  as  though  she  had  earned  tons  of  gold 
through  my  instrumentality.  She  sent  me  three  reserved 
seats  in  the  first  gallery,  which  were  occupied  by  my 
mother,  my  youngest  brother,  then  a  boy  of  eleven  or 
twelve,  and  myself.  The  performance,  although  admirable, 
made  a  most  dismal  impressio^i  upon  me.  I  sat  as  if  in  a 
bad  dream,  and  I  then  and  there  resolved  never  more  to 
attend  a  performance  of  any  of  my  plays — a  resolution 
which  I  have  up  to  this  day  strictly  adhered  to.*  The 
members  of  my  family  behaved  most  strangely.  I  myself 
unconsciously  recited  the  entire  play  in  a  low  voice.  My 
mother,  turning  her  gaze  away  from  the  stage  every  now 
and  then,  exclaimed  again  and  again :  Tor  Heaven's  sake, 
Franz,  calm  yourself,  you  will  get  sick;'  while  my  little 
brother,  who  sat  on  the  other  side  of  her,  prayed  inces- 
*Thi3  seems  to  be  contradicted  by  a  remark  of  the  actor  Costenoble, 
in  his  Recollections,  "Aus  dem  Burgtheater,"  concerning  the  first  per- 
formance of  "The  Golden  Fleece"  (March  27,  1821):  "Grillparzer 
was  called  before  the  curtain,  came,  and  bowed." 


DIE  AHNFEAU  55 

santlj  for  the  success  of  the  play.  What  added  to  the  dis- 
agreeableness  of  the  scene  was  that  there  sat  among  the 
few  spectators  on  the  bench  directly  behind  us  a  respect- 
able-looking old  gentleman,  who  of  course  did  not  know 
me,  and  who,  although  apparently  interested  in  the  per- 
formance, could  not  refrain  from  exclaiming  frequently: 
^Too  gross,  altogether  too  gross.'  There  was  much  ap- 
plause, but  only  in  those  scenes  which  afforded  the  prin- 
cipal actors  an  opportunity  to  display  their  art.  When  I 
went  on  the  stage,  after  the  close  of  the  performance,  I 
entirely  disagreed  with  the  actors,  who  maintained  that 
the  play  had  proved  a  great  success. 

"That  my  opinion  was  the  correct  one  was  shown  at  the 
second  performance  on  the  following  evening,  for  the  the- 
atre was  half  empty.  But  the  actor  Kiistner  said  that  I 
did  not  know  the  ways  of  this  theatre.  It  always  took  a 
few  days  until  the  public  of  the  Vorstddte  of  Vienna  heard 
of  the  success  of  a  play.  And  so  it  proved.  On  the  even- 
ing of  the  third  performance  the  theatre  was  literally 
besieged,  and  the  play  produced  in  Vienna  and  through- 
out Germany  a  tremendous  impression. 

"In  spite  of  the  general  interest  it  evoked,  'Die  Ahnf ran' 
did  not  yield  me  more  than  500  florins  in  paper  money, 
paid  me  by  the  director  of  the  theatre,  besides  a  similar 
amount  which  I  received  from  the  publisher,  the  total  be- 
ing equivalent  to  400  silver  florins  (about  $170).  Acting 
on  Schreyvogel's  advice,  I  had  given  the  play  to  the 
printer,  immediately  after  the  first  performance,  because 
the  critics  misrepresented  its  contents  as  well  as  my  aims 
in  the  most  atrocious  manner.  All  the  theatres  of  Ger- 
many therefore  played  the  piece  after  the  printed  copy, 


56     GRILLPARZEE  A:N^D  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

with  enormous  benefit  to  their  treasury,  but  not  one  of 
them  thought  of  offering  me  any  share  whatever  in  the 
receipts.  However,  what  I  got  in  Vienna  served  to  defray 
some  of  our  household  expenses.  We  paid  the  rent  for  our 
dwelling,  then  about  due,  and  I  kept  for  myself  only  fifty 
florins  in  paper  money,  for  which  I  bought  the  Brunswick 
edition  of  Shakespeare  and  Heyne's  Hiad.'' 
^  "Die  Ahnfrau"  established  Grillparzer's  reputa- 
tion, and  yet  it  clouded  his  literary  fame  through  life ;  for 
it  allied  him,  in  the  opinion  of  the  uncritical,  long  after 
he  had  sought  other  themes,  with  the  so-called  fate  trage- 
dians Milliner  and  Werner,  whose  gruesome  productions 
shed  their  gloom  over  the  German  stage  during  the  early 
decades  of  the  last  century.  Great,  indeed,  must  have  been 
the  literary  skill  of  the  young  author  which  triumphed 
over  the  horrors  of  so  dismal  a  plot  as  that  of  the  "Ahn- 
frau."    Its  outlines  are  as  follows: 

/  The  ghost  of  the  ancestress  of  Count  Borodin  haunts  the 
/castle  where  he  and  his  daughter  Bertha  live,  the  last 
descendants  of  their  race.  The  ancestress  had  been  mur- 
dered by  her  husband,  whom  she  had  betrayed.  Bertha 
falls  in  love  with  a  stranger  who  had  rescued  her  in  the 
woods  from  the  hands  of  bandits.  It  is  Jaromir,  the  chief 
of  the  outlaws — her  own  brother,  who  had  been  kidnapped 
in  infancy.  Count  Borodin,  who  pursues  the  robbers,  is 
killed  by  Jaromir.  Bertha  puts  an  end  to  her  life,  and 
Jaromir  dies  in  the  fatal  embrace  of  the  ghost  of  the  an- 
cestress, which  he  mistakes  for  Bertha.  Thus  is  the  guilt 
of  the  house  of  Borodin  avenged  by  its  extinction. 

Grillparzer,  as  has  been  seen,  wrote  his  play  in  scarcely 
more  than  two  weeks,  and  it  has  all  the  merits  and  some 


DIE  AHNFEAU  57 

of  the  defects  of  a  composition  struck  off  at  such  fever 
heat.  His  impassioned  diction  and  the  melody  of  his 
trochaic  tetrameter  have  not  wholly  lost  their  power  to 
charm,  even  in  the  case  of  modern  audiences ;  the  exposi- 
tion and  the  development  of  the  plot  manifest  the  firm 
grasp  of  the  born  dramatist,  while  the  occasional  crudity 
of  thought  and  redundancy  of  metaphor  are  no  more 
glaring,  it  may  be  urged,  than  are  similar  defects  in 
Schiller's  first  dramatic  effort,  "Die  Rauber."  Reminis- 
cent borrowing  of  characters  and  situations  may  be  looked 
for  in  the  youthful  effusions  of  all  dramatists.  The  bandit 
brother  and  lover  brings  before  our  mind  Schiller's  "Bride 
of  Messina,"  just  as  the  killing  of  his  father  recalls  King 
(Edipus,  while  the  fateful  dagger,  stained  with  the  blood 
of  preceding  generations,  which  accomplishes  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  house  of  Borodin,  revives  the  memory  of 
Werner's  once  famous  fate  tragedy,  "The  24th  of 
February." 

With  all  its  defects,  "Die  Ahnfrau"  has  to  this  day  ^ 
stood  the  supreme  test  of  all  plays  intended  for  the  stage — 
the  power  to  hold  and  move  an  audience.  Ehrhard  has 
explained  the  secret  of  its  success  as  follows:  "No  model 
could  furnish  Grillparzer  with  that  which  made  the  success 
of  his  play.  In  addition  to  genuine  inspiration  drawn 
from  real  life,  there  are  dramatic  qualities  of  the  first 
order,  a  marvellous  knowledge  of  scenic  effect,  a  rapid 
action  whose  interest  never  flags,  an  irresistible  warmth, 
a  diction  full  of  animation  and  poetry,  which  did  not  need 
to  enrich  itself  with  adornments  borrowed  from  Schiller." 
For  nearly  a  century  the  "Ahnfrau"  has  been  relegated 
by  literary  historians  to  the  lumber-room  of  forgotten 


68     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

melodramas,  yet  again  and  again  it  reappears  on  the  stage, 
in  undiminished  strength.  "During  three  generations," 
says  Prof.  Emil  Reich,  "dull  malice  has  vainly  spent  itself 
against  its  extraordinary  descriptive  skill  and  the  power- 
ful development  of  its  plot." 

In  composing  "Die  Ahnfrau,"  Grillparzer  was  as  far 
from  any  intention  of  enforcing  a  particular  ethical 
theory  as  was  Goethe  when  he  wrote  his  "Werther,"  and 
"Die  Ahnfrau"  was  even  more  fiercely  attacked  for  its 
un-Christian  doctrines  than  had  been  the  pagan  sentiments 
of  his  illustrious  predecessor.  Even  learned  theologians 
joined  in  the  hue  and  cry,  which  vainly  attempted  to 
drown  the  plaudits  of  the  public. 

It  is  quite  likely  that,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  the 
forbidding  sombreness  of  "Die  Ahnfrau"  was  the  direct 
result  of  the  atmosphere  in  which  its  author  wrote  it.  He 
lived  at  that  time  in  a  district  significantly  known  as  "Das 
Elend"  (The  Misery),  a  group  of  gloomy  old  houses, 
which  have  now  disappeared.  The  young  poet  may  have 
felt,  while  revolving  the  plot  of  his  play,  that  the  hand 
of  fate  rested  heavily  on  his  own  family,  whose  last  mem- 
ber he  was  destined  to  be. 


SAPPHO 

Stung  bj  the  ignorant  hostility  of  his  critics,  Grillparzer, 
as  we  learn  from  his  autobiography,  determined  to  choose 
for  his  next  play  "the  simplest  possible  story,  in  order  to 
prove  to  the  world  and  to  myself  that  I  could  produce  an 
effect  by  sheer  poetic  power.  But  I  found  no  such  story, 
perhaps  only  because  I  looked  for  none.  My  soul  was 
embittered.  I  felt  that  I  had  come  as  the  last  poet  into 
a  prosaic  age.  Schiller,  at  the  memorial  celebration  of 
whose  death,  at  the  Karnthnerthor  Theater,  I  had  nearly 
lost  my  own  life,  my  chest  being  almost  crushed  by  the 
crowd  against  a  half-open  door — Schiller  was  dead,  and 
Goethe  had  turned  to  science,  devoting  himself,  in  his 
grandly  contemplative  way,  to  indifferent  subjects,  power- 
less to  impress  the  world ;  while  within  me  burned  all  the 
fires  of  fantasy.  Spring  and  summer  passed  in  dreamy 
idleness.  Toward  the  beginning  of  autumn  I  was  taking 
a  walk  in  the  Prater  along  the  Danube.  E'ear  the  first 
group  of  trees  I  met  Dr.  Joel,  who  told  me  that  Kapell- 
meister Weigel  was  anxious  to  find  a  good  libretto.  He 
thought  that  my  poetry,  combined  with  Weigel' s  music, 
would,  etc.,  etc.  He  himself,  he  said,  had  found  a  splendid 
plot  for  an  opera.  While  I  had  not  the  faintest  desire  to 
furnish  such  a  libretto,  I  asked  him  what  the  plot  was. 
He  said  it  was  the  story  of  Sappho.  I  immediately  replied 
that  this  would  also  be  a  good  subject  for  a  tragedy.    He, 


60     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

however,  thouglit  that  there  were  too  few  incidents  in  the 
story.  Thus  we  separated ;  he  turned  toward  the  city,  and 
I  continued  my  walk  in  the  Prater. 

"The  mention  of  Sappho  had  struck  me  with  singular 
force.  Here  was  the  simple  story  I  was  in  search  of.  I 
rambled  farther  and  farther  into  the  Prater,  and  when  I 
returned  home  late  in  the  evening,  the  plan  of  the  tragedy 
was  ready.  Next  day  I  asked  in  the  imperial  library  for 
the  extant  fragments  of  Sappho's  poems,  and  found  that 
one  of  the  two  complete  ones,  that  addressed  to  the  goddess 
of  love,  was  perfectly  suited  to  my  purpose.  I  translated 
it  then  and  there,  and  next  morning  I  began  work  in  good 
earnest.'' 

Grillparzer  completed  "Sappho"  in  less  than  three 
weeks.  He  had  been  well  prepared  for  the  task.  When 
the  critics  of  the  "Ahnfrau"  reproached  him  with  misun- 
derstanding the  Greek  fate,  he  returned  with  the  utmost 
zeal  to  the  study  of  the  great  Greek  tragedians.  The  aes- 
thetic teachings  of  Lessing  and  Winckelmann  further  chas- 
tened his  taste,  and  Goethe's  "Tasso"  and  "Iphigenie"  left 
their  unmistakable  imprint  on  "Sappho."  But  Grill- 
parzer's  tragedy  is  far  from  being  an  imitation  of  either 
Greek  or  German  models.  While  based  on  the  ancient 
legend,  it  is  wholly  modern  in  the  development  of  its 
characters.  There  are  certain  resemblances  between 
Mme.  de  Stael's  "Corinne"  and  Grillparzer's  "Sappho." 
He  retained  from  the  legend  of  antiquity  the  story  of 
Sappho's  unrequited  love  for  Phaon,  and  of  her  suicidal 
leap  from  the  Leucadian  cliff  to  that  grave  which,  in  Swin- 
burne's language,  "hides  too  deep  the  supreme  head  of 
song."     He   added   the   character   of   Melitta,    Sappho's 


^     OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


SAPPHO  61 

slave  attendant,  a  creation  to  which  he  lent  much  of  the 
charm  of  Goethe's  Mignon,  a  young  girl  irresistible  in  her 
simple  loveliness,  which  is  but  heightened  by  the  melan- 
choly due  to  her  forcible  separation  from  her  native  shores. 
The  opening  scenes  of  the  play  show  us  Sappho  in  the 
fulness  of  her  triumph  at  the  Attic  games.  But  she  values 
the  acclamations  of  the  populace  chiefly  for  the  sake  of 
Phaon,  the  youth  who  accompanies  her,  and  whom  she  en- 
nobles by  her  love.  Phaon  discloses  the  origin  of  his  affec- 
tion for  her  in  impassioned  language : 

Since  thought  first  came,  since  first  my  feeble  hand 

Coaxed  immature  the  lyre's  melodious  wealth, 

Thy  god-like  image  stood  before  my  eyes. 

When  at  my  parents'  humble  hearth  I  sat. 

Their  children  all  joined  in  a  sweet  content. 

And  then  Theano,  my  good  sister,  rose, 

To  fetch  the  parchment  from  the  corniced  sheK; 

And  when  thy  song,  O  Sappho,  she  entoned, 

A  silence  deep  fell  on  the  noisy  youths. 

And  closer  pressed  the  maidens'  eager  group. 

To  garner  in  each  golden  grain  of  song. 

And  when  she  reached  the  fervent  glowing  strain 

Of  love  for  him,  the  youth  in  beauty  clad. 

Of  how  the  goddess  poured  her  longing  plaint 

Into  the  silence  of  the  lonely  night; 

When  of  Andromeda  the  fate  she  told, 

How  each  drank  in  her  words,  each  bosom  swelled 

With  rising  bliss,  the  listening  heart  intent 

To  hush  the  only  sound— each  beating  pulse. 

Mayhap  Theano  then  her  head  reclined 

Back  in  her  chair  and  gazed  with  musing  eye 

Into  the  circling  darkness,  and  she  spoke: 

"God-like,  what  may  her  outward  features  be? 

Methinks  I  see  her.    By  the  gods  above 


62    GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Among  a  thousand  I  should  know  h-er  form." 

Released  from  long  restraint  each  fettered  tongue. 

Each  now  his  fancy  urged  to  dower  thee 

With  added  beauty,  as  his  choice  might  prompt. 

One  gave  thee  Pallas'  eye,  the  other  Hera's  arm. 

One  Aphrodite's  magic  girdle  lent. 

But  I  alone  arose  and  silent  stepped 

Into  the  sacred  solitude  of  night. 

And  drawn  within  the  witchery  of  her  realm. 

My  senses  captive  in  her  sweet  repose, 

My  arms  for  thee  I  spread  in  longing  vain. 

And  when  above  my  brow  the  fleecy  clouds. 

The  gentle  zephyr's  breath,  the  mountain  dew. 

The  paling  silver  of  the  moon  beyond — 

When  all  this  melted  into  every  sense, 

Then  wast  thou  mine,  then  felt  I  thy  approach. 

And  Sappho's  image  throned  above  the  clouds. 

But  Phaon's  worship  of  Sappho  is  in  reality  an  admira- 
tion for  the  poetess  which  he  shares  with  all  Greece.  He 
sees  in  her  merely  the  goddess ;  of  the  woman,  older  than 
himself,  he  soon  tires.  He  first  notices  Melitta  at  the  fes- 
tive board,  where,  in  passing  the  cup  to  him,  she  is  seized 
with  confusion  at  the  sight  of  the  fair  youth  and  spills  the 
contents  on  the  floor.  The  din  of  the  celebration  wearies 
him.  He  escapes  from  the  feast,  and  in  solitude  gives  vent 
to  his  vague  unrest  and  his  longing  for  his  parents.  Melitta 
is  reproved  by  Sappho  for  her  seeming  indifference  toward 
the  attractions  of  Phaon.  Sappho,  in  the  fervency  of  her 
love  for  him,  would  have  the  whole  world  see  him  with  her 
own  eyes.    She  calls : 

Melitta,  hearest  thou? 
Melitta. 

What,  O  my  mistress  ? 


SAPPHO  63 

Sappho. 

Do  then  my  veins  alone  run  warm  with  blood. 

While  ice  chokes  up  the  hearts  of  all  the  rest? 

They  saw  him,  heard  his  voice,  the  self -same  air 

That  fanned  his  brow  their  lifeless  bosoms  breathed. 

And  a  dull-sounding  *'What,  0  mistress?" 

Is  all  their  lips  reluctantly  give  forth! 

Indeed,  I  almost  hate  thee  for  it.    Go ! 

(Melitta  turns  to  go.) 
Sappho  (throwing  herself  upon  a  grassy  slope). 

And  canst  thou  tell  me  nothing  then,  Melitta, 

That  might  rejoice  my  heart?    O  speak,  dear  child! 

Thou  saw'st  him — didst  thou  not?  and  was  there  nought 

Deserving  to  be  seen  and  talked  about  ? 

Didst  thou  not  use  thy  eyes,  thou  silly  child? 

Melitta  is  drawn  to  the  same  spot  which  Phaon  had 
sought,  by  an  equal  longing  for  her  own  home.  Her 
plaintive  call  to  the  gods  is  overheard  by  Phaon. 

Phaon. 

So  young  still  and  so  full  of  sadness, 
Melitta  (frightened).  Oh! 

Phaon. 

1  heard  thee  praying  to  the  gods  just  now 

For  friendly  sympathy.    Here  is  a  friend. 

An  equal  sorrow  joins  like  equal  blood. 

And  those  who  suffer  everywhere  are  kin. 

I,  too,  miss  longingly  the  fondest  parents, 

I,  too,  am  homewards  drawn  by  sadness'  might. 

Come,  let  us  hear  each  other's  tale,  that  sorrow. 

Thus  interchanged,  become  a  mutual  balm. 

Thou'rt  silent?    Why  suspicious,  gentle  maiden? 

Look  up  at  me !    No  harm  is  in  my  thought. 

(He  tahes  hold  of  her  chin  and  raises  her  head.) 

Ah !  Is  it  you  then  who  passed  'round  the  cup 

And  'stead  of  me  did  cool  the  polished  floor  ? 


64    GEILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  ] 

Hence  so  afraid?    Forget  thy  merry  blunder!  \ 

Thy  mistress  laughed  at  it,  no  less  than  I.  ^ 

(Melitta,  who  seemed  startled  at  the  last  remarlc,  first  looks              1 

down,  then  casts  a  glance  at  Phaon,  and  turns  to  go.)  ; 

Phaon. 

I  did  not  mean  to  give  offence,  dear  child.  ] 

Can  such  a  gentle  eye  so  serious  look?  \ 

Thou  must  reply  to  me,  I  do  insist.  \ 

I  noticed  thee  before  this — at  the  feast.  I 

Thy  lovely  stillness,  maiden,  shone  above  1 

The  tumult  wild  of  the  carousing  guests.  ] 

Who  art  thou?    And  what  keeps  thee  in  this  place?  \ 

Thou  sat'st  not  at  the  table,  but  didst  serve;  I 

The  slaves  fatiiliarly  addressed  thee,  seeming  thus  l 

To  mark  thee  their  companion,  and  yet — 

Melitta. 

That  am  I!  (She  turns  to  go.) 

Phaon  {keeping  her  hack).    Nay! 

Melitta. 

What  ask  you  of  the  slave? 
Let  her  with  slaves  seek  kindred  solace — and — 
Take  me  to  you,  to  you  take  me,  ye  gods  1 

Phaon. 

Thou  art  disturbed,  thou  tremblest.    Calm  thyself ! 

The  fetters  of  a  slave  tie  but  the  hands, 

The  mind  alone  makes  free,  and  makes  the  slave. 

Be  quiet!     Sappho  gentle  is  and  kind; 

One  word  from    me,  and  thou  without  a  ransom 

May'st,  free,  return  to  thy  paternal  home. 

(Melitta  silently  shakes  her  head.) 

Phaon. 

Believe  me,  she  will  free  thee.    Or  perhaps 
The  fervid  longing  for  thy  fatherland. 
That  first  so  moved  thee,  has  already  fled? 

Melitta. 

My  fatherland !    Ah,  tell  me  where  it  is ! 


SAPPHO                                    66  1 

Phaon. 

Thou  know'st  it  not?  i 

Melitta,  J 

In  early  childhood  days  1 
Was  snatched  away  I  from  its  tender  soil; 

Its  flowers  only  and  its  vales  retains  I 

My  memory,  its  name  is  strange  to  me,  \ 

But  it  lies  there  whence  comes  to  us  the  sun,  3 

For  light  was  there  and  all  was  beautif  id.  \ 

Phaon.  j 

Is  it  then  far  from  here?  i 

Melitta.  i 

Far,  very  far  I 

There  was  surrounded  I  by  other  trees,  | 

And  other  flowers  filled  the  air  with  fragrance,  ' 

More  beautiful  the  stars  were  in  the  heavens,  ] 

And  kindly  were  the  people  that  there  dwelt.  ■ 

'Mong  many  children  lived  I,  still  a  child,  ) 

And  there  was,  too,  alas!  an  aged  man,  j 
With  silvery  locks,  and  father  him  I  called. 

He  fondled  me,  and  there  was  still  another,  i 

So  fair  to  see,  and  of  so  gentle  mien,  ; 

Brown  was  his  hair  and  eye,  almost  like — thine.  j 

Phaon.  J 

Whj' stopp'st  thou?    And  that  man?  | 

Melitta.   .  \ 

He  too —  1 

Phaon.  \ 

Caressed  thee,  j 

Like  this.     {He  seizes  her  hand.)  i 

Melitta  (in  a  low  voice).  | 

I  was  a  child.  | 

Phaon. 

I  know  full  well, 

A  dear,  sweet  child,  unconscious  of  itself.  j 

(He  drops  her  hand.) 

Continue !  1 


66     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  \ 

Melitta.  \ 

And  thus  all  was  right  and  good.  ] 
But  once  awoke  I  in  the  night.    Wild  screams 

From  all  sides  fiercely  beat  upon  my  ear.  ) 

My  nurse  approached  my  bed,  I  was  picked  up,  I 

And  carried  out  away  into  the  darkness.  j 

Around  me  see  I  cabins  flaming  up,  i 

And  men  are  fighting,  and  they  flee  and  fall.  I 

And  now  a  madman  furious  grasps  at  me,  ^ 

And  there  is  anguish,  shrieking,  battle  cry,  ] 

When  next  remembrance  comes  I'm  on  a  ship,  1 

Which  in  the  night  glides  swiftly  through  the  sea,  .] 

And  children  heard  I  cry  and  maidens,  too.  1 

But  fewer  grew  in  number  they,  poor  things,  '{ 

The  farther  was  our  country  left  behind.  I 

And  thus  we  sailed  on  many  days  and  nights,  , 

Yes,  months  perhaps.    And  then  I  was  alone,  I 

Of  all  the  wretched  lot,  with  those  wild  men,  ] 

Till  finally  there  faced  us  Lesbos'  coast.  j 

There  was  I  put  ashore.    There  saw  I  Sappho,  j 

She  offered  gold  for  me,  and  hers  became  Melitta.  j 

Phaon.  I 

Was  then  thy  lot  so  sad  in  Sappho's  hands?  ;? 

Melitta,  J 

0  no,  'twas  not.  With  kindness  she  received  me,  l 
She  dried  my  tears,  and  gave  me  loving  care,  i 
And  fondly  taught  me,  for  though  sometimes  rash,  j 
And  quick  of  temper,  bitter  for  a  moment,  j 
Kind  Sappho  is  and  sweet,  yes,  truly  kind.  ' 

Phaon.  i 
And  yet  ne'er  couldst  thy  country  thou  forget? 

Melitta.  i 

Alas!  too  soon  did  I  forget  my  home!  | 

For  what  with  dance  and  play  and  household  duties,  j 

1  seldom  thought  of  those  whom  I  had  left. 

But  sometimes,  when  oppressed  I  am  by  sorrow,  i 


SAPPHO  67 

Then  longing  steals  into  my  aching  heart. 

And  memory,  with  sweet  yet  painful  hand. 

Unveils  the  past  that  lies  in  golden  haze. 

And  thus  it  was  to-day.    I  felt  so  timid. 

Each  lightly  spoken  word  upon  me  fell 

With  wounding  weight,  as  on  raw  flesh  and  fibre, 

And — yet,  all  now  is  well,  and  I  am  glad. 

(A  voice  calls  from  within.) 

Melitta! 
Phaon. 

Hear!    They  call! 
Melitta, 

They  call  ?    I  come. 
(She  drops  the  flowers  and  the  wreath  she  had  begun  to  malce.) 
Phaon. 

What  is  this? 


ItLVibUI^U, 

Flowers,  thou  seest. 

Phaon. 

And  for  whom? 

Melitta. 

For  thee— for  thee  and  Sappho. 

Phaon. 

Stay! 

Melitta. 

They  call. 

Phaon. 

Thou  must  not  leave  from  here  with  frowning  look! 
Show  me  thy  flowers ! 

Melitta. 

Here! 

Phaon  (talcing  out  a  rose). 

Take  thou  this  rose! 
(He  fastens  it  to  her  hosom.) 
Let  it  remind  thee  of  the  hour  now  passed. 


68     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Remind  thee  that  not  only  in  thy  home. 

That  in  the  far-off  land  are  also  friends. 
(Melitta,  who  shuddered  as  he  touched  her,  stands  now  motion- 
less, with  heaving  hosom,  her  arms  hanging  down,  and  her 

head  bowed.    Phaon,  a  few  steps  apart,  has  his  eyes  fixed 

upon  her.) 
(A  voice  from  within.)  Melittal 
Melitta, 

Did  you  call? 
Phaon, 

Not  I.  Within— 
Melitta  {picTcing  up  the  wreaths  she  had  dropped). 

I'm  coming. 
Phaon. 

Why  so  niggardly,  Melitta? 

Deserves  my  gift  no  gift  from  thee  in  turn? 
Melitta. 

A  gift  from  me  ?    What  owns  my  poverty  ? 
Phaon. 
^   Gold  vanity  bestows,  and  so  does  pride; 

The  gift  of  friendship  and  of  love  is  flowers. 

And  flowers  thou  hast  here. 
Melitta  (throwing  away  the  flowers). 

How?  these  thou  wouldst. 

Plucked  by  those  maidens  wild,  that  destined  were — 

No,  never! 
Phaon. 

Then  what  else  wilt  thou  bestow? 
Melitta. 

How  they  have  ravaged  all  these  bushes  here! 

No  trace  is  left  of  e'en  a  single  flower. 

(She  stands  before  a  rosebush  and  looks  up.) 

There  hangs  a  rose,  I  see,  on  yonder  branch. 

But  far  too  high  for  me,  I  cannot  reach  it. 
Phaon. 

I'll  lend  a  helping  hand. 


SAPPHO  69 

Melitia, 

No,  do  not! 
Phaon. 

Why? 
So  lightly  I  do  not  give  up  my  claim. 

Melitta  {mounting  upon  the  grassy  slope). 

Come  then!     And  toward  thee  I'll  bend  the  branch. 
Phaon. 

Just  so! 
Melitta  (who  is  lifted  up  hy  him  so  as  to  stand  on  tiptoe,  and 

hends  down  the  hranch  at  the  end  of  which  is  the  rose). 
Dost  reach? 

Phaon  (who,  without  paying  attention  to  the  rose,  looks  only 
at  Melitta). 

Not  yet. 
Melitta. 

Now!— O,  I  slip! 
I  fall! 
Phaon. 

No;  see,  I  hold  thee! 
(The  hranch  slips  from  her  hands  and  hounds  upwards;  she 
sways  and  sinks  into  Phaon's  arms,  which  he  opens  wide  to 
receive  her.) 
Melitta. 

O  leave  me  I 
Phaon  {pressing  her  to  his  hosom). 

Melitta ! 
Melitta. 

Woe  is  me!    Leave  me! 
Phaon, 

Melitta! 
(He  presses  a  kiss  on  her  lips.) 
Sappho  {entering,  simply  dressed,  without  wreath  or  lyre). 
Must  I  then  look  for  thee,  my  friend?  But  what  see  I? 
Melitta. 

Plark !  'Tis  my  mistress  I 


70     GEILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Phaon. 

How?  Is  Sappho  here? 

{Ee  relinquishes  Melitta.) 
Sappho  {after  a  pause), 

Melitta ! 
Melitta. 

Mistress  mine! 

Sappho. 

What  seek'st  thou  here! 
Melitta. 

I  looked  for  flowers. 
Sappho. 

And  not  without  success  I 
Melitta. 

This  rose — 
Sappho. 

This  rose — it  burns  upon  thy  lips. 
Melitta. 

It  hangs  so  high. 
Sappho. 

Perhaps  not  high  enough. 
Go! 
Melitta. 

And  shall  I  perhaps — ? 
Sappho. 

Go,  say  I,  go ! 

{Exit  Melitta.) 

Sappho,  still  unsuspecting,  and  blind  to  the  change  in 
Phaon's  feelings  toward  her,  entreats  him  not  to  arouse 
a  dangerous  sentiment  in  the  heart  of  one  whom  she  loves 
almost  as  a  child: 

No  maiden,  brought  to  me  by  fate's  caprice. 

Was  dear  to  me  as  has  Melitta  been, 

A  maiden  sweet  and  gentle  in  her  thought. 


SAPPHO  71 

Her  mind  not  deep  nor  rich,  nor  yet  endowed 
With  skill  to  exercise  a  varied  art. 
She  won  my  heart  as  no  one  else  has  won, 
By  artless  ways  and  unpretending  worth. 

Sappho's  jealousy  is  not  aroused  until,  while  bending  _ 
over  Phaon  to  imprint  a  kiss  on  his  brow,  she  hears  him 
utter  Melitta's  name  in  a  dream.  Phaon,  who  is  uncon- 
scious of  the  depth  of  his  affection  for  Melitta,  just  as  he 
was  ignorant  of  his  real  sentiments  toward  Sappho,  re- 
lates to  her  innocently  the  dream  in  which  Melitta  ap- 
peared to  him.  In  an  interview  with  Melitta,  Sappho's  - 
jealousy  bursts  into  flame,  and  she  threatens  her  with  a 
dagger.  Phaon  appears  in  time  to  save  Melitta. 
Sappho  decides  to  transport  her  secretly  to  the  isle  of 
Chios,  but  Phaon  discovers  her  design  and  flees  with 
Melitta.  They  are  overtaken  and  brought  back.  Sappho 
recognizes  that  she  was  not  destined  to  enjoy  earthly  love, 

Whoe'er  is  chosen  by  the  gods  as  theirs. 
The  mortal  throng  must  shun  forevermore, 

and  she  plunges  from  the  cliff  into  the  sea,  with  the  part- 
ing prayer : 

Be  yours  each  flowering  joy;  think  well  of  her 

Who  willing  now  repays  her  life's  last  debt. 

Bless  them,  ye  gods,  ai^d  take  me  to  your  heights! 

"Sappho,"  which  was  first  performed  at  the  Burg-^ 
theater  on  April  21,  1818,  was  the  play  Grillparzer  him- 
self liked  best  of  all  his  works,  and  it  has  perhaps  retained 
a  stronger  hold  on  the  public  than  those  of  his  tragedies 
which  surpass  it  in  dramatic  power.  As  an  illustration  of 
the  vagaries  of  dramatic  criticism,  it  may  be  interesting 


72     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

to  compare  the  varied  impressions  produced  by  the  play 
on  some  of  the  contemporaries  of  the  young  author. 

!,  Lord  Byron,  among  foreign  critics,  was  one  of  the  most 
J  enthusiastic  in  its  praise.  In  an  entry  in  his  diary,  under 
date  of  January  12,  1821,  he  wrote:  "Read  the  Italian 
translation  by  Guido  Sorelli  of  the  German  Grillparzer — a 
devil  of  a  name,  to  be  sure,  for  posterity,  but  they  must 
learn  to  pronounce  it.  With  all  the  allowance  for  transla- 
tion, .  .  .  the  tragedy  of  'Sappho'  is  superb  and  sublime !  V 
And  who  is  he  ?  I  know  him  not,  but  ages  will.''  Carlyle 
•  in  an  article  on  "German  Playwrights,"  written  in  1829, 
speaks  of  Grillparzer,  in  his  irritatingly  patronizing  way, 
as  "a  most  inoffensive  man,  nay,  positively  rather  meri- 
torious. 'Sappho,'  which  we  are  sorry  to  hear  is  not  his 
last  piece,  but  his  second,  appears  to  us  very  considerably 
the  most  faultless  production  of  his  we  are  yet  acquainted 
with.  There  is  a  degree  of  grace  and  simplicity  in  it,  a 
softness,  polish  and  general  good  taste,  little  to  be  expected 
from  the  author  of  'Die  Ahnfrau.'  "  In  Germany,  Tieck 
and  Solger,  considered  weighty  critics  in  their  day,  treated 
the  young  dramatist  with  the  utmost  contempt.  Solger, 
whose  aesthetic  pretensions  annoyed  Schiller  and  Goethe 
not  a  little,  wrote  after  a  performance  of  "Sappho":  "I 
must  mention  that  monstrosity.  The  favor  it  meets  with 
is  astounding.  My  wife  and  I  would  have  laughed  out- 
right over  it  had  we  not  been  so  greatly  bored." 
*  Modern  criticism  assigns  to  "Sappho"  a  very  high  rank, 
among  the  dramatic  masterpieces  of  German  literature. 
Rudolf  Gottschall,  who  is  very  grudging  in  his  praise  of 
Grillparzer,  places  "Sappho"  very  close  to  Goethe's 
"Iphigenie."     A  certain  inner  parallelism  heightens  the 


SAPPHO  73 

resemblance  between  the  two  dramas;  but  if  Iphigenie 
affords  us  vague  glimpses  of  one  of  Goethe's  passionate 
attachments,  Sappho's  plaint  is  almost  literal  in  its  sad 
recital  of  Grillparzer's  misfortunes : 

To  lose  and  to  renounce  has  been  my  lot. 
My  parents  early  sank  into  their  grave, 
Their  children  followed  to  the  nether  world. 
By  fate's  decree  and  also  by  their  guilt, 
Which  sorely  wounded  oft  my  faithful  heart. 
I  know  the  torture  of  ingratitude, 
Deceptive  love  and  friendship  false  and  base; 
Their  anguish  has  my  bosom  learned  to  bear. 
jTo  lose  and  to  renounce  has  been  my  lot. 

In  more  than  one  of  his  lyrics  recurs  this  melancholy 
note,  as  in  his  "Entsagung"  (Eesignation)  : 

Mankind's  eternal  fate  is  resignation, 

No  joys  are  thine  but  those  thou  hast  renounced. 

Sappho  has  often  challenged  comparison  with  Goethe's 
Tasso.  We  find  in  both  the  same  conflict  between  art  and 
actuality,  but  Grillparzer's  heroine  is  dramatically  a  more 
effective  impersonation  of  the  poet  struggling  against 
hopeless  passion  than  Goethe's  hero.  "Tasso  shows  no- 
where," says  Volkelt,  "such  clearness  and  significance  in 
his  attitude  toward  life."  That  the  conclusion  of 
"Sappho"  is  disappointing,  ethically  rather  than  dramati- 
cally, may  be  granted.  We  feel  that  her  death  is  not 
called  for  by  the  situation.  Phaon,  to  put  it  bluntly,  is 
scarcely  worth  dying  for.    He  tells  Sappho : 

If  love  I  vowed  thee,  'twas  without  deception: 
I  loved  thee  as  methinks  one  loves  the  gods, 
Xoves  what  is  noble,  what  is  beautiful^ 


74     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

One  can  hardly  help  suspecting  that  she  ends  her  life 
rather  from  chagrin  at  having  thrown  away  her  affection 
on  one  so  immeasurably  beneath  her  than  because  her 
dwelling  place  is  with  the  gods. 

Grillparzer  himself,  who  was  ever  his  own  justest  critic, 
is  far  from  claiming  perfection  for  the  manner  in  which 
he  treated  his  theme.  He  recognizes  the  lack  of  action  in 
the  first  two  acts  and  admits  that  the  first,  especially,  has 
in  reality  little  dramatic  life.  But  his  own  preference  for 
the  play,  as  the  one,  above  all  others,  written  with  the 
completest  spontaneity  and  joy  in  the  mere  creating,  is 
abundantly  justified  by  its  extraordinary  poetic  beauties, 
and  a  perfection  of  form  perhaps  unequalled  in  any 
drama  produced  by  so  youthful  an  author. 


VI 

DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS 

"Sappho,"  like  "Die  Ahnfrau,"  was  triumphantly  pro- 
duced on  many  German  stages,  but  the  pecuniary  results 
which  the  play  yielded  to  the  author  were  insignificant. 
One  court  theatre  sent  him  about  six  dollars  as  his  royalty. 
Nor  was  the  income  from  the  sale  of  his  printed  works 
worth  mentioning.  From  a  sentiment  of  patriotism,  he  re- 
fused the  offers  of  German  publishers  and  clung  to  his  un- 
enterprising Vienna  bookseller.  His  growing  fame  re- 
sulted, however,  in  an  improvement  in  his  ojfficial  position, 
through  the  favor  of  Count  Stadion,  the  Minister  of 
Finance,  one  of  the  few  enlightened  bureaucrats  then  in 
high  office.  He  caused  him  to  be  appointed  dramatic 
writer  to  the  Burgtheater,  with  an  annual  salary  of  2,000 
paper  florins,  equivalent  to  about  400  dollars.  Prince 
Metternich  also  became  interested  in  him  and  promised  to 
smooth  his  official  path.  "I  might  have  been  the  idol  of 
the  mighty  in  the  state,"  is  Grillparzer^s  remark,  "had  I 
never  written  a  line  about  anything  else  but  the  fortunes 
of  simple-minded  lovers.  But  scarcely  did  I  overstep  these 
bounds  when  I  was  persecuted  by  everybody."  Through 
the  mistaken  good-will  of  Count  Stadion  he  was  trans- 
ferred to  another  department  in  the  Ministry  of  Finance, 
where  he  was  brought  into  contact  with  insolent  superiors. 
He  became  ill,  and  while  recuperating  in  the  country,  in 


76     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

the  summer  of  1818,  accident  threw  in  his  way  a 
dictionary  of  mythology,  in  which  the  legend  of  Medea 
arrested  his  attention.  The  subject  seemed  to  him  emi- 
nently adapted  to  fuller  dramatic  treatment  than  Euripides 
and  his  modern  imitators,  with  some  of  whom  he  was 
familiar,  had  given  it,  and  he  conceived  the  plan  of 
a  trilogy  based  on  the  quest  for  the  golden  fleece.  He  was 
then  unaware  that  Schiller,  in  a  letter  to  Goethe  written  in 
1Y98,  had  pointed  out  the  story  of  Medea  as  a  rich  and 
still  unexplored  field  for  the  dramatist  "if  treated  in  its 
entirety  and  as  a  cycle."  Grillparzer  prepared  himself  for 
his  task  by  the  most  painstaking  study  of  ancient  sources — 
Apollonius  Rhodius's  "Argonautica,"  Strabo's  "Geogra- 
phy," and  Valerius  Flaccus's  epic.  He  divided  his  sub- 
ject into  three  parts,  "Der  Gastfreund"  (The  Guest),  "Die 
Argonauten"  and  "Medea."  The  work  was  carried  on 
with  his  usual  rapidity.  He  wrote  the  one-act  "Gast- 
freund"  between  the  29th  of  September  and  the  6th  of 
October,  1818,  and  the  first  three  acts  of  "Die  Argonau- 
ten"  between  the  20th  of  October  and  the  3d  of  November. 
Then  his  labors  were  interrupted  by  the  illness  of  his 
mother,  which  terminated  in  her  death,  on  the  24th 
of  January,  1819.  Her  loss  was  a  crushing  blow  to  him, 
all  the  more  so  because,  as  is  now  considered  certain,  she 
had  terminated  her  life  in  a  fit  of  insanity.  His  own 
version,  in  his  autobiography,  is  that  he  found  her  one 
night  standing,  half-dressed,  near  her  bed.  He  addressed 
her,  but  received  no  answer,  and  discovered  to  his  horror 
that  she  was  dead. 

"What  I  felt,"  wrote  Grillparzer,  "can  only  be  imagined 
by  one  who  knew  the  almost  idyllic  nature  of  our  common 


n 

1 

'4m.    1 

I 


,^^1X_AK 


U 


of 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  77 

life.  After  she  had  no  longer  any  resources  of  her  own, 
I  provided  for  all  the  necessities  of  onr  home,  and  thus 
I  was  to  her  both  son  and  husband.  She  had  no  will  but 
mine,  nor  did  it  ever  enter  my  mind  to  impose  upon  her 
a  wish  that  was  not  hers.  All  domestic  matters  were  left 
to  her  absolute  decision,  but  on  the  other  hand  she  re- 
frained from  any  interference  in  the  domain  of  my 
thoughts,  sentiments,  convictions — in  whatever  related  to 
my  work.  According  to  custom  at  the  time  of  her  youth, 
she  had  received  very  little  so-called  education — in  those 
days  learning  was  a  thing  scarcely  thought  of  for  women 
— but  artistically  endowed  as  she  was,  she  could  interest 
herself  in  everything,  and  her  mind  was  receptive  even  in 
directions  where  her  knowledge  was  deficient.  Judging 
from  the  harmony  of  our  relations,  I  may  say  that  a 
wedded  life  would  not  have  been  contrary  to  my  nature, 
although  I  was  not  to  enter  into  it.  There  is  within  me 
something  yielding  and  conciliatory  that  inclines  me  only 
too  much  to  the  guidance  of  others,  but  constant  disturb- 
ance or  interference  in  my  inner  life  I  do  not  tolerate;  I 
could  not  bear  it  even  if  I  made  up  my  mind  to  it.  In 
married  life  I  should  have  required  to  be  let  alone,  for- 
getting that  my  wife  had  a  personality  of  her  own,  though 
I  should  gladly  have  shown  myself  willing  to  contribute 
my  share  toward  removing  any  causes  of  mutual  misun- 
derstanding. But  to  be  one  of  two  would  have  been  im- 
possible to  my  solitary  nature.  At  one  time  it  seemed  as 
though  such  a  relationship  might  be  formed,  but  it  was 
nipped  in  the  bud.  Heaven  knows  through  no  fault  of 
mine." 

To  turn  his  mind  from  his  grief,  he  went  to  Italy, 


78     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

where  he  became  acquainted  with  Count  Wurmbrand, 
lord-steward  of  the  Empress  Caroline  Augusta  of  Austria, 
who  was  then  travelling  in  that  country  with  the  emperor. 
The  count  was  anxious  to  introduce  Grillparzer  to  the 
empress,  and  on  their  arrival  at  Kome,  where  quarters  had 
been  prepared  for  the  lord-steward  in  the  Quirinal, 
Wurmbrand,  in  order  to  keep  Grillparzer  near  him,  let 
it  be  known  that  the  poet  was  secretary  to  the  em- 
press. This  deception,  which  was  not  at  all  to  Grill- 
parzer's  liking,  and  of  which  he  only  heard  later  on,  led 
to  disagreeable  complications  on  the  poet's  return  to 
Vienna^ 

During  his  stay  in  Italy  Grillparzer  enjoyed  the  honor 
of  being  invited  to  dine  with  Prince  Metternich.  "I  men- 
tion this  circumstance,"  he  writes,  "solely  because  of  a 
remarkable  incident  which  occurred  on  that  occasion.  The 
prince  was,  as  always,  very  amiable.  After  dinner,  while 
coffee  was  being  served,  he  recited  with  real  enthusiasm, 
and  from  memory,  in  English,  the  entire  fourth  canto  of 
Lord  Byron's  ^Childe  Harold.'  That  canto  had  then  just 
appeared,  and  was  still  unknown  to  me.  Metternich's 
daughter,  the  Countess  Esterhazy,  since  deceased,  occa- 
sionally prompted  him,  likewise  from  memory." 

On  his  return  to  Vienna  Grillparzer  once  more  became 
the  victim  of  bureaucratic  persecution,  being  tossed  about, 
in  wilful  disregard  of  his  wishes,  between  the  Min- 
istry of  Finance  and  the  department  dealing  with  the 
affairs  of  the  court  theatres.  Still  greater  annoyances 
arose  from  the  publication  of  several  lyric  poems  written 
in  Italy,  in  one  of  which,  inspired  by  the  Forum,  and  en- 
titled "The  Euins  of  Campo  Yaccino,"  he  had  contrasted 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  79 

the  classic  age  with  the  clericism  superimposed  upon  it, 
thereby  incurring  the  displeasure  of  the  public  censor. 
The  emperor  himself,  as  well  as  Metternich,  joined  in  the 
official  denunciation  of  the  poet.  The  indignation  of  the 
emperor  was  all  the  greater  because  the  poem  had  appeared 
in  an  almanac  dedicated  to  a  Bavarian  princess,  and  the 
Munich  court  had  sent  to  the  Austrian  government  a  pro- 
test against  the  laxity  of  the  Vienna  censor  in  permitting 
the  publication  of  such  anti-Christian  sentiments.  All  the 
unsold  copies  of  the  almanac  were  thereupon  seized  and 
the  obnoxious  pages  torn  out. 

"Unfortunately,"  wrote  Grillparzer,  "this  measure 
failed  to  attain  the  desired  end.  Four  hundred  complete 
copies  had  already  been  sent  to  other  countries,  and  lovers 
of  prohibited  literature  and  scandal  of  whatever  kind  en- 
deavored to  bring  them  back  at  any  cost.  Those  who  could 
not  buy  a  perfect  volume  borrowed  one  and  wrote  out  a 
copy  of  my  poem,  and  as  a  result  nothing  from  my  pen  has 
ever  had  such  a  circulation  in  my  fatherland  as  this  poem, 
which,  if  left  unnoticed,  would  have  been  thoughtlessly 
swallowed  by  the  public  with  no  greater  relish  than  if  it 
had  been  so  much  grass." 

As  a  public  official,  Grillparzer  was  peremptorily  sum- 
moned by  the  president  of  the  police  to  explain  his  con- 
duct. "It  would  have  been  easy  enough,"  he  wrote,  "to 
defend  myself.  The  poem  had  received  the  imprimatur 
of  the  public  censor,  and  that  completely  exculpated  me 
as  the  author.  But  that  merely  meant  shifting  the  respon- 
sibility to  the  shoulders  of  the  censor,  in  this  instance  my 
friend  Schreyvogel,  and  this  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  I 
therefore  handed  the  president  of  the  police  a  memoran- 


80    GEILLPAKZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

dum  in  which  I  gathered  together  everything  that  could 
possibly  be  said  by  way  of  justification  of  intent  and 
expression." 

The  document  is  a  manly  and  very  able  plea  for  the 
right  of  the  poet  to  give  utterance  to  his  momentary 
thought,  but  his  learned  distinctions  between  the  functions 
of  poetry  and  history  were  lost  upon  the  ignoramuses  and 
time-servers  of  Austrian  officialdom.  The  poet  was  from 
now  on  a  spotted  man.  ."Henceforth,"  he  wrote,  "every 
vagabond  thought  himself  licensed  to  attack  and  malign 
me."  He  was  popularly  known  as  an  enemy  of  the  Pope, 
and  when,  in  1821,  he  applied  for  a  position  in  the  private 
library  of  the  emperor,  Francis  remarked :  "Yes,  he  might 
do  well  enough  for  the  place  if  he  hadn't  had  that  affair 
with  the  Pope." 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  tribulations  Grillparzer  re- 
sumed work  on  his  trilogy.  "My  disagreeable  experi- 
ences," he  wrote,  "did  not  dampen  my  ardor  in  the  com- 
position of  the  dramatic  poem.  I  remember  that  the 
verses  which  Creusa  recites  in  the  second  act  of  ^Medea' 
— ^the  favorite  song  of  Jason — were  written  by  me  in  pen- 
cil, in  the  antechamber  of  the  president  of  the  police  while 
I  was  expecting  a  stormy  audience.  As  I  felt  that  my  ex- 
citement and  anger  would  soon  give  way  to  reaction  and 
discouragement,  I  hurried  to  the  conclusion  as  rapidly 
as  possible,  and  I  know  that  I  wrote  each  of  the  last  two 
acts  of  ^Medea'  in  two  days.  When  I  had  finished  (on 
the  20th  of  January,  1820)  I  was  thoroughly  exhausted, 
and  without  rewriting  the  play  or  making  any  further 
changes,  beyond  those  I  had  made  while  writing,  I  carried 
the   barely   legible   manuscript   to    Schreyvogel.      After 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  81 

reading  it,  he  remained  silent  for  a  long  time,  and  finally 
remarked  that  my  queer  production  ought  to  be  laid  aside 
for  a  while.  With  my  usual  indifference  to  the  fate  of  my 
works,  I  tried  to  dismiss  all  troublesome  thoughts  of  the 
present  and  future  by  seeking  diversion  of  every  kind,  and 
also  by  turning  to  the  ancient  writers  and  to  Kant's  phi- 
losophy, with  which  I  had  only  recently  become  acquainted. 
While  I  was  thus  engaged,  Schreyvogel  suddenly  made  his 
appearance,  embraced  me,  and  said  that  'The  Golden 
Fleece'  was  to  be  put  upon  the  stage  without  any  delay. 
What  had  caused  him  to  change  his  opinion,  I  do  not 
know.  It  may  be  that  he  could  not  at  first  easily  read 
the  badly  written  manuscript,  or  that  it  was  only  on  a 
second  reading  that  he  entered  into  my  deliberately 
planned  purpose  of  fusing  in  my  work — ^whimsical  though 
it  may  be — the  romantic  and  the  classic.  However,  we 
never  discussed  this  point.  At  all  events  that  excellent 
man,  to  whom  I  am  so  greatly  indebted,  may  well  have 
been  displeased  at  my  handing  him  my  play  as  a  finished 
product,  ready  to  be  performed,  without  subjecting  it  first 
to  his  criticism.  I  should  have  been  stupid  indeed  had  the 
opinions  of  such  a  friend  concerning  matters  of  detail  been 
indifferent  to  me;  but  I  knew  from  experience  that  his 
desiderata  concerned  the  essence  of  the  plays,  and  as  to 
that,  I  wanted  to  reserve  perfect  freedom  of  action,  even 
at  the  risk  of  making  a  mistake. 

"This  feeling  of  independence  has  always  kept  me  away 
from  literary  coteries.  With  two  exceptions,  no  journalist 
or  literary  celebrity  has  ever  received  a  letter  from  me, 
and  those  two  letters  I  wrote  by  way  of  reply.  I  have  al- 
ways stood  alone,  and  therefore  I  was  at  first  attacked  on 


82     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIA]^  DRAMA 

all  sides,  and  later  on  ignored.  I  bore  this  treatment  with 
proud  disdain,  although  it  subsequently  lessened  my  pleas- 
ure in  the  creation  of  new  works.  I  may  add  here  that  in 
mingling,  as  stated,  the  romantic  and  classic  in 
my  play,  nothing  was  further  from  my  mind  than  a  silly 
purpose  to  imitate  either  Shakespeare  or  any  other  poet 
of  his  time.  What  I  intended  to  do  was  to  bring  out  as 
clearly  as  possible  the  difference  between  Colchis  and 
Greece,  a  difference  which  forms  the  basis  of  the  tragedy, 
and  which  caused  me  to  employ  here  and  there,  alter- 
nately, the  iambic  measure  and  an  unfettered  metre,  ex- 
pressive, as  it  were,  of  a  different  idiom." 

The  trilogy  was  performed  on  the  26th  and  27th  of 
March,  1821.  Grillparzer  records  in  his  autobiography 
a  barely  moderate  success.  The  first  and  second  parts, 
"Der  Gastfreund''  and  "Die  Argonauten,"  are  rarely  seen 
on  the  stage  nowadays,  while  "Medea"  has  remained  one 
of  the  most  popular  and  effective  of  German  tragedies. 

"The  Guest"  is  in  the  nature  of  a  prologue.  We  see 
in  the  wilds  of  Colchis  Medea,  daughter  of  King  ^etes, 
leading  a  life  of  untamed  freedom.  She  is  in  communion 
with  supernatural  powers  and  defies  the  restraints  of  hu- 
man society.  Her  inflexible  will  clashes  with  the  behests 
of  her  father,  a  barbarian  ruler,  yet,  in  his  rude  way,  a 
lover  of  his  country.  The  opening  scene  shows  Medea  and 
her  weird  nurse,  Gora,  in  the  act  of  offering  a  deer  as  a 
sacrifice  to  the  goddess  Darimba.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
ceremony  Medea  summons  her  attendants  to  the  chase. 
Peritta,  who  has  earned  her  mistress'  contempt  by  re- 
nouncing her  liberty  and  following  her  lover,  is  banished 
from  Medea's  presence.     She  kneels  before  her. 


4 

DAS  GOLDEKE  VLIESS                        83  i 

Medea.  I 

Kneel  not !    Thou  shalt  not  kneel !  J 

Hear'st  thou?    I  blush  with  very  shame  for  thee.  1 

So  cowardly,  so  tame!    Not  that  I've  lost  thee  l 

Fills  me  with  pain,  but  that  I  must  despise  1 
Whom  formerly  I  loved. 

U  II  you  knew! 

Medea. 

Knew  what?    Didst  recently  not  steal  away,  1 

The  chase  forsaking,  down  the  Tergene  valley,  ^ 

To  seek  the  shepherds?  Speak,  ungrateful  one!  I 

Didst  thou  not  promise  to  be  mine  forever,  I 

Not  any  man's?    Speak,  didst  thou  promise  me?  j 

Peritta.  ] 

When  thus  I  vowed,  could  I  then  know —  j 

'^^^^«-                                                                         Be  silent!  \ 

What  need  of  knowing  more  than  that  you  promised!  : 

Petes'  royal  daughter  is  Medea,  J 

And  what  I  do  is  right  because  I  do  it;  i 

And  yet,  thou  false  one,  had  I  promised  thee  j 
This  hand  of  mine  to  cut  from  off  my  arm, 
I'd  do  the  deed,  forsooth,  because  I  promised. 

Peritta.  ^ 
Eesistless  fate  drove  me  unconscious  on 

Against  my  will,  indeed  against —  1 

Medea.                                                 Indeed!  j 

She  would  not,  yet  she  did—    Go,  silly  one !  j 

How  could  it  happen  if  thy  wish  forbade  ?  1 

What  I  do  I  have  wished,  and  what  I  wish —  J 

Well,  that  perchance  I  sometimes  leave  undone.  ! 

Go  back  into  thy  shepherd's  stuffy  cabin,  < 

There  squat  thee  down  in  smoke  and  wretched  squalor,  i 

And  cabbage  raise  upon  an  inch  of  ground !  ^ 

My  garden  is  th'  illimitable  earth,  i 

The  sky's  blue  pillars  mark  my  dwelling  place.  i 


U    GRILLPARZER  A^B  THE  AUSTRIAlSr  DRAMA 

There  shall  I  stand,  around  me  the  free  hills. 
And  drink  their  air  with  nnimprisoned  breast, 
And  looking  down  on  thee,  despise  thee,  girl. 
Ho !  To  the  woods,  ye  maidens !    To  the  woods ! 

Medea's  fierceness  leaps  into  flame  when  she  is  told  by 
her  father  that  strangers  have  arrived  from  a  foreign 
land,  bearing  rich  treasure,  and  intent  on  laying  waste  the 
land.  "Go  and  kill  them,"  is  her  advice  to  ^etes,  but  she 
will  not  stoop  to  the  treachery  planned  by  him  toward  the 
leader  of  the  invaders,  Phrixus,  the  Greek.  The  latter 
comes  bearing  aloft  the  fateful  golden  fleece  which  he  had 
stripped  from  a  statue  of  the  God  Peronto  at  Delphi,  in 
obedience  to  a  dream.  Peronto  is  the  patron  deity  of  Col- 
chis, and  when  Phrixus  bends  his  knee  before  his  statue 
and  thanks  him  for  his  protection,  JEetes's  religious  jeal- 
ousy is  added  to  his  greed,  and  he  resolves  on  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  stranger  who  invokes  his  hospitality.  Medea 
vainly  protests  against  the  murder.  Phrixus's  dying  curse 
bespeaks  misery  and  death  for  the  children  of  the  man 
who  has  so  vilely  betrayed  his  guest,  ^etes,  terror- 
stricken,  would  fain  force  the  fleece,  which  portended  the 
ruin  of  his  house,  upon  his  lifeless  victim,  and  Medea, 
repeating  with  gruesome  emphasis  Phrixus's  curse,  fore- 
tells the  awful  doom  that  is  impending. 

The  expedition  of  the  Argonauts,  led  by  the  war-like 
Jason,  is  the  theme  of  the  second  part  of  the  trilogy.  The 
golden  fleece  is  buried  in  a  cave  guarded  by  a  dragon. 
Medea  has  foreseen  the  coming  of  the  avengers.  iEetes 
and  his  son  Absyrtus  appeal  to  her  to  avert  their  fate  and 
consult  the  gods.  In  the  gloomy  tower  which  is  her  re- 
treat she  reluctantly  invokes  the  powers  of  darkness: 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS                        85  \ 

\ 

Medea  (a  hlach  staff  in  her  right  hand,  a  lamp  in  her  left).  i 

It  is  so  sultry  here,  so  gloomy!  1 

A  humid  vapor  oppresses  the  flame,  ^ 

It  burns,  but  gives  no  light.  1 

(She  puts  the  lamp  down.)  = 

Hark !  It  is  my  own  heart  l 

That  loudly  beats  against  my  breast.  j 

Weak  and  silly  I  am !  Arouse  thee,  Medea !  j 

My  father's  cause  is  at  stake,  the  cause  of  the  gods.  I 

Shall  strangers  be  victorious?    Is  Colchis  doomed?  | 
Never,  never! 

Begin  then  thy  work !  \ 

Attend  me,  ye  gods!  I 

Hear  me,  and  answer  my  question!  ] 

(She  makes  signs  in  the  air  with  her  staff.)  ] 

Ye  who  walk  clad  in  the  robes  of  night,  1 

And  march  on  the  wings  of  the  storm,  | 

Dread  princes  of  the  deep,  \ 

Who  approve  of  resolve                          •  J 

And  deliberate  deed,  i 
Who  with  corpses  abide. 

And  drink  the  blood  of  the  slain ;  I 

Who  know  the  heart's  secret  and  bend  the  will;  l 

Who  count  each  blade  of  the  present,  1 

And  garner  the  harvest  of  the  past,  i 
And  foresee  the  budding  crop  of  the  future — 

To  you  I  call!  ; 
Announce  to  me  clearly 

What  threatens  our  safety,  what  smiles  on  our  fate.  ^ 

By  the  power  I  wield,  i 

By  the  deed  I  have  done,  ; 

By  the  word  that  ye  know,  j 

I  call  to  you :  [ 

Appear,  appear!  ; 

(A  patise.)  \ 

What  means  this?    All  is  silence.  1 


86     GRILLPAKZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

They  do  not  appear  ? 

Have  I  offended  you,  or  has  human  foot, 

A  violating  foot, 

Entered  this  sacred  spot?  , 

I  am  filled  with  alarm,  I  am  seized  with  a  shudder! 

Ye  who  are  all  powerful,  hear  me  call ! 

Hear  the  voice  of  Medea! 

It  is  the  call  of  a  friend. 

I  implore  you,  I  demand: 

Appear,  appear! 

{Jason  jumps  forward  from  behind  the  statue.) 
Medea  (drawing  hack). 

Ha! 
Jason. 

Accursed  sorceress,  thy  end  has  come ! 

Before  thee  stands  who  is  to  take  thy  life. 
(While  rushing  forward  with  extended  sword,  he  wounds  Medea 

in  the  arm.) 
Medea  (grasping  with  her  left  hand  the  injured  right  arm). 

Woe's  me! 
(8he  drops  upon  a  seat  in  the  rock,  groaning  and  "breathing 

heavily.) 
Jason. 

Thou  flee'st?  My  arm  shall  reach  thee  still. 

(Looking  about  him  in  the  darkness.) 

Where  is  she  ? 

(He  takes  the  lamp  and  searches  by  its  light.) 
There! — Thou  shalt  escape  me  not. 

(Approaching  her.) 

Thou  wicked  one! 
Medea  (groaning). 


Oh! 


Jason. 


Groan'st  thou?    Tremble  then! 
(Letting  the  light  of  the  lamp  fall  upon  her.) 
Deceives  me  not  my  sight?    Art  thou  the  sorceress 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  87 

That  but  a  moment  since  did  hoarsely  curse? 

A  maiden  see  I  lying  at  my  feet. 

Defended  by  that  grace  which  conquers  all, 

And  superhuman  nothing  but  her  beauty. 

Is't  thou  ?    Ah,  yes !     That  white  arm  runs  with  blood. 

Which  my  unfeeling  sword  has  caused  to  flow. 

What  hast  thou   made  me  do  ?     Art  thou  aware 

That  I  came  near  to  killing  thee,  fair  image. 

When  in  night's  darkness  I  attacked  thee  thus? 

And  pity  'twere,  indeed,  to  slay  such  charm ! 

Who  art  thou,  tell  me,  thou  deceitful  being? 

Thou  seem'st  so  fair,  and  art  so  full  of  evil. 

So  well  worth  loving,  yet  begetting  hate. 

How  could  this  mouth,  a  rose,  which  like  a  rose 

Was  made  to  breathe  the  fragrance  of  sweet  words. 

With  darksome  utterance  pollute  itself? 

When  Nature  planned  thee,  she  wrote  gentleness 

With  pleasing  letters  on  her  first  fair  leaf. 

Who  set  the  sorceress'  sign  upon  her  pages? 

Oh,  I  beseech  thee,  leave!    I  hate  thy  beauty. 

Which  will  not  let  me  fully  hate  thy  malice. 

Thou  breathest  heavily.    Does  pain  thy  arm? 

Thou  now  behold'st  the  fruits  of  evil  deeds. 

The  wound  is  bleeding.    Let  me  see ! 

{He  touches  her  hand.} 
Thou  tremblest! 
Fast  beats  thy  pulse,  convulsed  is  every  fibre. 
Perhaps  thou  art  as  bad  not  as  thou  seem'st, 
But  tainted  merely  by  thy  savage  country. 
And  penitent,  and  full  of  pious  shame. 
Lift  up  thy  eye  and  look  into  my  own, 
That  in  thy  clear  gaze  I  may  see  revealed 
The  hidden  riddles  of  thy  life  and  deeds. 
Art  silent,  maiden,  thou?    O  wert  thou  mute. 
And  would  another  mouth  less  sweet  than  thine 
Had  spoke  those  cursed  words  that  struck  my  ear! 


88     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

Thou  sighest.    Speak !    O  let  me  hear  thy  sounds ! 

Entrust  them  to  the  air's  swift  messengers, 

Or  else  my  mouth  shall  fetch  them  from  thy  lips! 

The  appearance  of  Absjrtus  interrupts  the  spell  which 
the  god-like  Jason  has  thrown  over  Medea.  She  stays  the 
hand  of  her  brother,  who  is  about  to  strike  down  the 
stranger.  Unknown  to  herself,  love  for  Jason  from  now 
on  fills  her  soul.  Her  nurse  and  her  attendants  find  her 
listless  and  tearful.  Medea  confides  her  adventure  to 
Gora,  but  insists  that  it  was  Heimdar,  the  god  of  the 
deep,  who  appeared  to  her  in  the  guise  of  a  young  hero. 
Jason,  in  an  interview  with  ^etes,  tells  him  the  object  of 
his  mission.  He  has  been  sent  by  his  uncle  Pelias,  King 
of  Thessaly,  to  demand  the  return  of  the  golden  fleece, 
^etes  haughtily  refuses,  but  presses  upon  Jason  a  cheer- 
ing cup,  in  token  of  hospitality.  Medea  presents  it  to  the 
stranger,  but  when  she  recognizes  Jason  in  him,  she  utters 
a  cry  of  horror,  warning  him  against  the  poisoned  draught, 
and  thus  saving  his  life  for  the  second  time.  Medea  still 
professes  to  share  her  father's  undying  hatred  of  the  in- 
vaders and  their  leader.  She  refuses  to  admit  to  the  im- 
petuous Jason,  who  reads  the  secret  of  her  heart,  that  she 
returns  his  passion.  He  leads  her  back  to  her  father. 
Jason. 

Now,  king,  prepare  thee  for  the  deadly  struggle! 

The  ties  are  severed  that  have  held  me  captive; 

Dispelled  forever  is  the  fond  delusion 

That  lamed  each  sinew  and  repressed  the  deed. 

As  back  to  thee  I  give  her  thou  embracest. 

So  from  me  cast  I  peace,  and  now  breathe  war. 

Prepare  thee,  king !    At  st^k?  ar^  lif ^  emd  fate ! 

{To  Medea.) 


I 

DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  89                   1 

And  thou,  who  mute  and  trembling  liest  here,  i 

Thy  face  in  hostile  anger  turned  from  me,  j 

Farewell!     We  now  must  part  forevermore.  l 

There  was  one  moment  when  I  vainly  thought  1 

That  thou  couldst  feel,  that  thou  couldst  more  than  hate,  i 

When  I  imagined  the  eternal  gods  i 

Had  made  us  for  each  other,  thee  and  me;  ! 

But  that  is    jjast,  and  now  farewell,  once  more.  ^ 

Twice  hast  thou  saved  the  stranger's  life,  Medea.  j 

This  I  shall  cherish,  and  I  thank  thee  for  it.  i 

When  in  my  far-oif  home,  in  years  to  come,  j 

I  tell  the  story  to  my  listening  friends,  i 
And  they  shall  ask  and  urge :  For  whom  the  tear 

That  sparkles  strangely  in  thy  manly  eye  ?  ; 

Then  painful  recollection  will  o'erpower  me,  \ 

And  I  shall  say :  Medea  was  her  name,  \ 

And  she  was  beautiful  and  was  majestic,  j 

But  in  her  bosom  beat  no  human  heart.  11 

The  confession  of  her  love  is  finally  wrung  from  her  { 

when  her  father,  in  his  fury,  attempts  to  strike  Jason  I 

down.     She  entreats  ^etes  to  accept  Jason  as  his  son,  ] 

but  merely  provokes  his  curse:  ^ 

Thou  hast  deceived  me  and  betrayed.  i 

Never  more  shalt  thou  enter  my  house!  \ 

Thou  art  cast  out  like  the  beast  in  the  wilderness,  j 

Shalt  die  among  strangers  alone.  ^ 

Follow  him,  thy  lover,  to  his  home,  « 

Share  his  bed,  his  errors,  his  shame!  \ 
Live  a  stranger  among  strangers. 

Mocked  at,  despised,  and  jeered  by  the  crowd!  ^ 

He  for  whom  thou  forsakest  father  and  country,  ^ 

Himself  shall  despise  thee  and  mock.  \ 

When  stilled  his  desire,  when  dead  is  his  lust,  j 

Thou  shalt  stand  and  wring  thy  hands,  I 


90     GEILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

And  extend  them  toward  thy  home,  j 

Separated  by  the  wide  and  raging  sea,  i 

Whose  murmuring  waves  bring  thee  thy  f  ather^s  curse.  ! 

Medea's  lot  is  now  inseparably  joined  to  Jason's.     He  \ 
summons  his  followers  for  the  final  stroke  and  attempts 

to  soothe  Medea.  j 

Jason.  I 

Forget  what  thou  hast  heard,  what  thou  hast  seen,  ] 

What  thou  hast  been  until  this  very  hour.  i 

Petes'  daughter  is  now  Jason's  wife,  ] 

Linked  to  my  breast  thy  duty  and  thy  right.  l 

And  as  from  thee  I  ruthless  tear  this  veil,  ] 

Marked  with  the  symbols  of  the  powers  below,  ' 

So  tear  I  from  thee  all  the  ancient  ties  I 

That  joined  thee  to  this  country's  wickedness.  '\ 

Ye  Grreeks,  here  stands  a  Grecian  maiden !    Hail  her !  ] 

(He  tears  off  her  veil.)  : 

Medea  {endeavoring  to  seize  it). 

The  gods  adorned  me!  i 

Jason.  j 

Those  below.    Away! 

Thy  hair  falls  freely  o'er  thy  open  brow,  \ 

And  free  and  open  art  thou  Jason's  bride.  I 

But  one  thing  more,  and  we  shall  sail  from  hence:  '■! 

The  fleece  thou  knowest;  tell  me  where  it  lies.  S 

Medea.  j' 

O  speak  it  not!  '; 

Jason.  ^^ 

Why  not?  \ 

Medea.  j 

Speak  not,  speak  not!  \ 

Jason,  I 

Pledged  is  my  word  to  fetch  from  hence  the  fleece.  H 

Without  the  victor's  prize  returns  not  Jason.  \ 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  91 

Medea. 

0  hear  my  voice,  speak  not  of  it ! 
A  god  in  his  anger  sent  the  fleece; 
Misfortune  it  brings,  it  ever  has  brought. 

1  am  thy  wife;  thou  hast  snatched  it  from  me, 
Snatched  from  my  breast  the  reluctant  word. 
Thine  am  I,  I  follow  wherever  thou  wilt. 
But  not  one  word  more  about  that  fleece! 
In  the  dawning  twilight  of  prescient  dreams 
The  gods  have  shown  it  to  me. 

Spread  over  corpses. 
Spattered  with  blood. 
My  blood. 
Speak  not  of  it! 

Medea  implores  Jason  to  desist  from  the  search  for  the 
•fleece,  which  must  end  in  certain  death,  but  as  he  remains 
unshaken  in  his  deterinination,  she  accompanies  him  to  the 
cave,  where,  aided  bj  her  magic,  he  eludes  the  dragon, 
and  carries  off  the  coveted  treasure.  As  the  Argonauts 
are  about  to  embark,  Absyrtus,  at  the  head  of  a  force  of 
Colchians,  comes  to  recapture  the  fleece.  Disarmed  by 
Jason,  and  threatened  with  capture,  he  leaps  into  the  sea. 
^etes  appears  in  time  to  witness  in  his  son's  death  the 
fulfilment  of  the  curse  pronounced  by  Phrixus.  When  he 
attempts  to  throw  himself  upon  Jason,  he  staggers  back 
before  the  avenging  fleece.  The  Argonauts  depart  as  the 
agonized  father  falls  to  the  ground. 

During  the  long  sail  from  Colchis  to  Greece  Medea  be- 
comes Jason's  wife.     He  curtly  relates : 

Four  years  the  gods  postponed  the-  ship's  return, 
Tween  sea  and  land  we  aimlessly  were  tossed. 
And  hourly  facing  her  in  narrow  confines, 


92     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

My  early  shudder  parted  with  its  sting. 

Done  was  what  happened;  she  became  my  wife. 

Two  children  are  born  to  the  ill-matched  pair.  Bitter 
disappointment  awaits  them  both  on  their  final  landing. 
Instead  of  being  hailed  in  Greece  as  the  conquering  hero, 
Jason  is  the  object  of  general  aversion  because  of  his  wife, 
the  sorceress.  He  feels  himself  slighted  in  her. 
Mine  was  she,  me  they  scorned  in  scorning  her, 

but  the  double  insult  merely  intensifies  the  estrangement 
between  them.  His  uncle  Pelias  commands  him  to  cast  ofi 
Medea,  but  his  pride  rebels  against  the  behest.  Pelias  dies 
a  cruel  death,  and  Jason,  suspected  of  having  murdered 
him,  flees  from  lolcos.  After  wandering,  a  homeless  fugi- 
tive, from  city  to  city,  he  reaches  Corinth,  whose  king, 
Creon,  a  friend  of  his  father,  he  hopes  may  give  shelter 
to  him  and  his  wife.  And  to  Creon  he  tells  the  story  of 
his  life. 

At  the  opening  of  the  last  part  of  the  trilogy,  in  Cor- 
inth, we  find  Medea  resolved  to  break  with  the  past.  She 
will  be  Greek  with  the  Greeks,  and  buries  her  magic  imple- 
ments, together  with  the  golden  fleece.  Gora,  her  nurse 
and  evil  genius,  who  had  come  with  her  from  Colchis,  sur- 
prises her  as  the  chest  containing  the  ill-starred  treasures 
is  being  lowered  into  the  earth,  and  she  heaps  upon  Medea 
words  of  biting  sarcasm: 

And  thus  all  now  is  blotted  out? 

A  breath  that's  gone  is  the  past, 

Alone  is  the  present,  and  there  is  no  future. 

There  was  no  Colchis,  and  there  are  no  gods. 

Thy  father  never  lived,  nor  died  thy  brother ! 

Because  thou  think'st  it  not,  it  ne'er  has  been  I 


DAS  GOLDENE  YLIESS  93 

Think  then  thou  art  not  wretched,  think 
Thy  husband  loves  thee  still,  the  traitor. 
Perhaps  'twill  happen ! 

Gora  has  even  poisoned  the  minds  of  the  children. 
Medea  takes  them  to  greet  their  father : 

Boy, 

Art,  father,  thou  a  Greek? 
Jason, 

Why  dost  thou  ask? 
Boy, 

Gora  in  insult  calls  thee  Greek ! 
Jason, 

In  insult? 
Boy. 

Deceitful  folk  they  are,  and  cowardly. 
Jason  {to  Medea). 
Hear'st  thou? 
Medea. 

'Tis  Gora's  talk  inflames  the  children. 
Forgive  them! 
{She  kneels  down  before  the  children  and  whispers  into  their 

ears.) 
Jason. 

Be  it  so!    There,  ill-starred,  kneels 
Who  bears  her  burden,  bears  my  own  as  well. 

Creon,  after  hearing  Jason's  story,  is  willing  to  grant 
protection  to  him  and  his  children,  and  gentle  Creusa, 
Creon's  daughter,  welcomes  Jason,  her  early  playmate. 
Her  heart  goes  out  to  his  children,  but  she  shudders  at  the 
first  sight  of  Medea,  whose  evil  fame  has  preceded  her. 
Creusa,  however,  soon  holds  out  a  pitying  hand  to  her  from 
whom  all  turn  in  fear: 


94    GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

Creusa. 

I  have  offended  thee,  I  know,  forgive  me. 
Medea. 

0  sweetest  sound!    Who  spoke  the  gentle  words? 
They  often  scold  and  deeply  hurt  my  soul. 

But  no  one  ever  asked  how  sore  the  wound. 

Creusa  teaches  Medea  a  song  that  Jason  sang  as  a  boy, 
hoping  that  it  will  please  him  to  hear  it,  but  Medea, 
though  willing  to  learn,  describes  to  Creusa  his  cold  sel- 
fishness : 

For  him  and  him  alone  the  world  was  made, 
And  nothing  lives  except  to  prompt  his  deeds. 
To  own  in  thought  what  may  elude  his  clutch. 
He  dares  his  fate  and  risks  the  fate  of  all. 
If  glory  tempts,  he  kills  without  a  pang. 
And  if  a  woman,  why,  he  simply  grasps. 
Let  break  what  will,  he  has  what  he  desires ; 
Right  is  his  deed,  for  what  he  wills  is  right. 

Creusa  attempts  to  mediate  between  Jason  and  Medea, 
but  he  rudely  sends  Medea  away,  and  in  telling  Creusa  the 
story  of  his  triumphs  and  disappointments,  he  feels  his 
early  fondness  for  her  reawaken. 

Jason. 

My  fate  is  sealed.    Crushed  am  I,  ne'er  to  rise. 
Creusa. 

1  know  a  way  by  which  thou  mayest  rise. 
Jason. 

I  know  there  is,  but  canst  thou  show  me  how? 
Show  me  that  ne'er  I  left  my  parents'  home. 
That  I  remained  in  Corinth  with  you  all. 
That  ne'er  I  saw  the  fleece,  saw  Colchis  never. 
Saw  never  her  whom  now  I  call  my  wife  ? 
Show  me  she  sought  again  her  cursed  land. 


1 

i 

DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS                        95  \ 

And  blotted  out  that  once  she  was  in  Corinth,  i 

Then  shall  a  man  again  I  be  with  men.  \ 
Creusa. 

Is  this  the  only  way?    I  know  another: 

Let  simple  be  thy  heart,  content  thy  mind.  I 

Jason,  j 

0  if  thou  might'st  impart  these,  pure-souled  maid  I  ■ 
Creusa.  \ 

The  gods  grant  willing  what  we  fondly  seek,  >. 

Once  they  were  thine ;  they  may  be  thine  again.  i 

Jason.  \ 

Dost  sometimes  thou  recall  our  childhood  days?  ^i 
Creusa. 

Oft  do  I  think  of  them,  and  love  to  think.  1 

Jason.  5 

When  we  were  as  one  heart,  a  single  soul.  ^ 

Medea  returns  as  Jason  recalls  to  Creusa  the  happy  ^ 

days  when  she  watched  for  his  coming  and  going.     He  j 

resents  Medea's  intrusion.  j 

Medea. 

Jason,  I  know  a  song.  | 

Jason  (continuing  to  address  Creusa).  \ 

And  then  the  tower!  1 

Dost  thou  remember  it,  on  yonder  shore. 

Where  thou  didst  weeping  with  thy  father  stand,  ] 

When  I  took  ship  and  sailed  for  far-off  lands?  j 

1  had  no  eye  then  for  thy  flowing  tears,  \ 
For  full  my  soul  was  of  my  future  deeds.  | 
A  gust  of  wind  detached  thy  veil  from  thee,  J 
The  waves  received  it,  and  I  sprang  for  it,  j 
And  carried  it  with  me,  to  think  of  thee.  i 

Creusa.  i 

Hast  thou  it  still?  ] 
Jason. 

Remember  many  a  year 


96    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Since  then  has  passed;  the  winds  have  borne  away 

Thy  pledge.    'Tis  gone. 
Medea. 

Jason,  I  know  a  song. 
Jason. 

Thou  then  didst  call  to  me:  Farewell,  my  brother  I 
Creusa. 

As  now  I  call:  My  brother,  hail  to  thee! 
Medea. 

Jason,  I  know  a  song. 
Creusa. 

She  knows  a  song 

That  once  thou  sang'st.    Hear!  Let  her  sing  it. 
Jason. 

Yes,  yes!  What  was  I  saying?  'Tis  a  habit 

That  mocking  clings  to  me  from  childhood's  days. 

And  makes  me  dream  and  talk  of  far-off  things 

That  are  not  now  and  nevermore  shall  be; 

For  even  as  the  youth  lives  in  the  future. 

So  with  the  past  together  lives  the  man. 

And  no  one  in  the  present  fully  lives. 

A  moment  back  I  was  a  valiant  hero. 

And  had  a  precious  wife  and  gold  and  goods. 

And  mine  there  was  a  place  where  slept  my  children. 

(To  Medea.) 

What  didst  thou  want  of  me? 
Creusa. 

Sing  thee  a  song. 

Which  in  thy  youth  thou  sang'st  here  in  our  home. 
Jason. 

That  singest  thou? 
Medea. 

As  best  I  may. 
Jason. 

Indeed ! 
Wouldst  thou,  then,  with  this  paltry,  childish  song 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  97             \ 

Give  back  my  childhood  and  its  happiness  ?  \ 

No,  let  it  be !    We  must  cling  to  each  other,  \ 

Because  it  happened  so,  and  ^tis  our  fate;  1 

But  let  us  have  no  songs  and  childish  things.  | 

Creusa.  I 
O  let  her  sing !    She  tried  so  hard  to  learn. 
And  now  she  knows  the  song  and — 

Jason,  I 

Well,  then  sing!  \ 

Creusa.  ] 

The  second  string,  remember! 
Medea  (passing   her  hand  over  her  forehead,  with  an  expression 

of  pain),  ] 

O  forgotten!  | 
Jason, 

Thou  see'st,  I  knew  full  well  it  would  not  do !  \ 
To  quite  another  play  her  hand  is  used; 

The  dragon  sang  to  sleep  her  magic  art,  J 

Which  had  another  note  than  thy  pure  song.  ^ 

Creusa  {prompting  Medea  in  a  whisper),  '■ 

O  ye  gods,  J 

Great  gods — 

Medea  (repeating).  l 

O  ye  gods,  I 

Ye  great  and  just,  relentless  gods —  ] 

(The  lyre  drops  from  her  hand,  and  she  presses  her  hands  to  ^ 

her  eyes.)  1 

Creusa. 

She  weeps.    How  can  you  be  so  harsh  to  her  and  wild?                        \ 

Jason  (restraining  Creusa).  \ 

Leave  her !    Thou,  child,  know^st  neither  me  nor  her.  ' 

The  gods  have  laid  their  hands  upon  Medea ;  'j 

She  feels  the  touch,  yet,  blood-stained,  digs  e'en  here.  ■ 

Do  thou  not  meddle  with  the  gods  that  judge!  ; 
Hadst  thou  beheld  her  in  the  dragon's  nest. 

Where  like  the  monster's  her  contortions  were,  ^ 


98     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Her  darting  tongue  shot  forth  a  double  venom. 
And  hate  and  death  gleamed  from  her  flaming  eye, 
Thy  bosom  were  well  steeled  against  her  tears. 
Take  thou  the  lyre,  and  sing  to  me  the  song, 
And  chase  the  demon  gnawing  at  my  vitals; 
It  may  be  thou  canst  do  it,  she  cannot. 

Medea,  stung  by  Jason's  taunts,  breaks  the  lyre  and 
throws  the  pieces  defiantly  before  Creusa.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  herald  of  the  Amphictyonic  Council  appears  and 
proclaims  the  banishment  of  Jason  and  Medea  from  all 
Greece,  for  the  murder  of  King  Pelias.  Creon  defends 
Jason  and  shields  him  as  one  who  is  to  be  his  son-in-law, 
but  Medea  is  told  to  leave  Corinth  before  another  morning 
dawns.  The  bitterest  mutual  reproaches  between  Jason 
and  Medea  ensue: 

Jason. 

Why  dost  thou  rave  against  me,  frightful  one. 

Turn  to  reality  my  darksome  dreams, 

Show  me  myself  reflected  in  thy  mirror. 

And  call  my  thoughts  as  witnesses  against  me? 

I  nothing  know,  no,  nothing,  of  thy  deeds. 

For  hateful  from  the  first  were  all  thy  ways, 

I  cursed  the  day  when  I  beheld  thee  first. 

And  pity  only  kept  me  at  thy  side. 

But  now  for  all  eternity  I  leave  thee. 

And  cin*se  thee,  as  thou'rt  cursed  by  all  the  world. 
Medea. 

O  speak  not  thus,  my  Jason,  husband  mine! 
Jason, 

Awayl 
Medea. 

When  threatening  my  old  father  spoke. 

Didst  thou  not  promise  nevermore  to  leave  me? 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS                        99  1 

Jason.  i 

I 

Thyself  thy  promise  thou  hast  forfeited,  I 

I  give  thee  over  to  thy  father's  curse!  ! 

Medea.  \ 

Thou  hateful  one!    My  husband,  come!  \ 

Jason.  i 

A.wB.y !  \ 

Medea.  \ 

Back  to  my  arms,  as  was  thy  own  desire !  \ 

Jason. 

k.vfB.j,  away!    See'st  thou  my  sword?    It  slays  thee 

If  thou  dost  not  retreat,  \ 

Medea  (approaching  him).  i 

Then  strike  me,  strike!  I 

Creusa  (to   Jason).  I 

O  hurt  her  not!    Let  her  depart  in  peace!  ] 

Medea.  j 

Art  thou  here,  too,  thou  white  and  silvery  serpent?  j 

O  hiss  no  more,  nor  tempting  move  thy  tongue.  i 

Thy  aim  thou  hast  attained,  thou  hast  my  husband!  ' 

Was  this  the  object  of  thy  loving  ways,  ^ 

Why  thou  didst  coil  around  my  neck  thy  rings?  j 

O  would  I  had  a  dagger,  that  I  might  j 

Thee  and  thy  father,  him,  that  righteous  king ! —  ; 

So  therefore  didst  thou  sing  thy  lovely  songs?  1 

Therefore  thou  gav'st  the  lyre  me  and  the  dress?  j 

(Tearing  off  her  cloaJc.)  \ 

Off !  Off !  Away  ye  gifts  of  infamy !  i 


(To  Jason.) 


Look!     As  I  tear  asunder  here  this  cloak. 
And  to  my  aching  heart  press  part  of  it, 
While  all  the  rest  I  throw  before  thy  feet. 
So  tear  asunder  I  my  love,  our  ties. 
Whatever  may  ensue  I  cast  before  thee. 
Who  sinned  against  misfortune's  holy  brow. 
Give  me  my  children,  let  me  then  depart! 


100    GEILLPAKZEE  AKD  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

King. 

The  children  shall  remain. 
Medea. 

Not  with  their  mother? 
King, 

Not  with  the  sinner  1 
Medea  (to  Jason), 

Thus  thou  sayest,  too? 
Jason. 

I,  too! 
Medea. 

Then  hear  me,  children! 
King. 

Back,  I  say! 
Medea. 

You  bid  me  go  alone?    So  be  it  then! 

But  hear  me  now :  Before  the  twilight  ends 

My  children  you  shall  give  me.    'Tis  enough! 

But  thou  who  stand'st  dissembling  now  before  me. 

And  down  upon  me  look'st,  thou  lying  saint, 

I  tell  thee  thou  shalt  wring  thy  hands  despairing. 

In  envy  of  Medea^s  happier  lot. 
Jason. 

Darest  thou? 
King. 

Away! 
Medea, 

I  go,  but  shall  return 

And  fetch  what's  mine,  and  bring  what  is  your  due. 
King. 

Shall  she  thus  threaten  to  oiir  very  face? 

If  words  cannot — 

(To  his  attendants.) 
Then  you  shall  teach  the  lesson! 
Medea. 

Stand  back !  Who  of  you  dares  to  touch  Medea  ? 


DAS  GOLDENE  YLIESS  101 

Kemember,  king,  the  hour  when  I  departed. 
No  more  unhappy  hour  hast  thou  e'er  seen. 
Make  room!  I  go!  My  vengeance  goes  with  me  I 

Gora  fans  Medea's  fury  against  her  treacherous  hus- 
band. She  asks  for  another  interview  with  him,  and  is 
stung  to  the  quick  by  his  studied  calmness. 

Medecd, 

Who  is  the  gentle  one  that  speaks  to  me? 
Is  it  not  Jason  ?    And  his  talk  is  sweet  ? 
Thou  gentle  one,  didst  thou  not  go  to  Colchis 
And  woo,  besmirched  with  blood,  the  kingly  maiden  ? 
Thou  gentle  one,  didst  thou  not  slay  my  brother? 
Not  kill  my  father,  gentle  one  and  pious  ? 
Dost  thou  not  leave  the  wife,  the  stolen  one? 
Thou  gentle?     Thou  abandoned,  awful  wretch! 

But  while  owning  all  her  guilt,  caused  by  her  love  for 
him,  she  makes  one  more  appeal  for  the  sake  of  her 
children. 

Medea. 

My  husband!    No,  thou  art  no  longer  that! 

My  lover!     No,  that  thou  hast  never  been! 

Then  man!  Can'st  thou  be  man,  and  break  thy  faith? 

Jason!    Eie!    Treachery  spells  that  name! 

How  shall  I  call  thee  ?  Wretch !  O  gentle,  kind  one ! 

Give  me  my  children,  and  let  me  depart! 

Jason  at  last  grants  her  the  cruel  privilege  of  taking 
one  of  the  children  with  her  into  exile,  the  choice  to  be 
made  by  the  children  themselves.    Creusa  brings  them  in. 

Creusa. 

The  children,  so  they  tell  me,  have  been  sent  for. 
Why  were  they?    And  what  is  to  happen  now? 
O  see !  They  love  me,  though  but  just  arrived. 
As  though  for  years  we'd  seen  and  known  each  othert 


102     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

My  gentle  speech,  to  which  they  are  unused. 

Has  won  them,  as  their  misery  wins  me. 
King. 

One  of  the  two  will  leave  hence  with  his  mother. 
Creusa. 

And  leave  us! 
King. 

Yes,  for  so  the  father  wills. 
{To  Medea  who  has  stood  hy,  lost  in  thought.^ 

The  children  are  now  here,  let  them  decide ! 
Medea. 

The  children !  Ah,  my  children !  Yes  'tis  they ! 

The  only  thing  I  still  own  on  this  earth. 

Ye  gods,  what  ever  evil  I  have  thought. 

Forget  it,  and  leave  both  to  me,  leave  both ! 

Then  I  shall  go  and  praise  aloud  your  goodness, 

Forgive  him  and — not  her,  no,  no,  nor  him! 

Come  here,  my  children,  here !    Why  stand  you  there, 

And  nestle  closely  to  her  hostile  breast  ? 

O  if  you  knew  what  she  has  done  to  me. 

You  would  seek  weapons  for  your  little  hands. 

To  cruel  claws  would  turn  your  feeble  fingers. 

And  you  would  tear  the  body  which  you  touch. 

Dost  thou  my  children  tempt?  Relax  thy  grip! 
Creusa. 

O  wretched  woman,  think'st  I  hold  thy  children? 
Medea. 

Not  with  thy  hand,  yet  hold'st  them,  like  their  father, 

With  malice  in  the  eye  and  treachery. 

But  when  Medea  implores  each  child  in  turn,  with  all 
the  pitiful  eloquence  of  a  mother's  anguish,  to  go  with  her, 
and  both  flee  from  her  to  Creusa,  her  heart  has  henceforth 
only  room  for  vengeance.  The  children's  doom,  as  well 
as  Jason's  fate,  is  sealed.  The  King,  who  has  accidentally 
discovered  Medea's  buried  treasures,   furnishes   himself 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  103 

the  weapons  of  revenge.  Slie  gives  him  the  fleece  which 
he  demands,  and  sends  to  Creusa  as  a  marriage  gift  a  fiery 
casket,  which  is  to  consume  her  and  the  palace.  The  chil- 
dren are  brought  to  her  for  a  last  farewell. 

Female  Slave  {with  the  children). 

My  royal  master  sends  your  children  here. 

When  past  the  hour,  I  am  to  call  for  them. 
Medea. 

In  time  they  shall  be  for  the  wedding  feast. 

And  now  take  her  who  stands  here  to  thy  mistress. 

She  has  a  present  and  a  message  from  me. 

And  thou  mind  well  what  I've  commanded  thee. 

Si)eak  not,  it  is  my  will! — Take  her  with  thee. 

{Exeunt  Gora  and  the  Slave.) 

Medea. 

Begun  the  deed  is,  but  not  finished  yet. 

My  mind  is  easy,  since  my  path  is  clear. 

{The  children,  hand  in  hand,  turn  to  follow  the  slave.) 
Medea. 

Where  to? 

Boy. 

I'm  going  home. 

Medea. 

What  seek'st  thou  there? 

Boy. 

Our  father  bade  us  follow  yonder  slave. 
Medea. 

Your  mother  bids  you  stay.    Here  you  remain! 
******* 

What  harm  has  ever  done  ye  both  your  mother 
That  thus  you  flee  from  her  and  turn  to  strangers? 
Boy. 

You  want  again  to  take  us  on  thy  ship. 

Where  we  get  dizzy  and  the  air  is  close. 

We  shall  remain  here.    Brother,  stay'st  thou  not? 


104    GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAIST  DRAMA  \ 

Little  Boy.  I 

Yes.  I 

Medea. 

Then  thou,  Absyrtus,  too,  wilt  go  from  me?  1 

But  it  is  better  thus,  better  the  whole  I  i 
Come  to  me  I 

Boy,  j 
I'm  afraid. 

Medea.  | 

Come  to  me,  boy  I  j 

Boy. 

Will  you  not  hurt  me? 

Medea.  ] 

Hurt?    Hast  thou  deserved  it?  'i 

Boy.  l 

You  once  did  throw  me,  for  that  like  my  father  j 

I  look,  but  therefore  does  my  father  love  me.  i 

I  stay  with  him,  and  with  the  woman  kind.  j 

Medea.  ^ 

Thou  shalt  go  to  her,  to  that  woman  kind!  '[ 

How  he  resembles  him,  the  traitor,  him!  • 

Little  hoy.  i 

I'm  sleepy.  | 

Elder  Boy.  i 
Let  us  go  to  sleep.    'Tis  late. 

Medea.  ] 

O  ye  shall  both  sleep  to  your  hearts'  content!  5 

Go  there  and  rest  yourselves  upon  those  steps  ] 

While  I  take  meanwhile  counsel  with  myself.  i 

How  carefully  he  leads  his  brother  thither,  J 

Takes  off  his  outer  dress  and  wraps  it  'round  ; 

His  little  brother's  shoulder,  to  protect  him!  j 

And  now,  their  little  arms  locked  in  a  fond  embrace,  i 

They  closely  nestle. — Bad  he  never  was!  I 
O  children,  children! 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS  105 

The  fatal  hour  has  come.  She  rouses  the  children  for 
the  last  time. 

Medea. 

Children,  hear  you  not!    Arise,  arise! 
Boy  (awaking). 

What  is  it? 
Medea  (bending  down  close  to  the  children). 

Put  your  arms  around  me! 
Boy. 

I  slept  so  sweetly! 
Medea. 

Slept?    How  can  ye  sleep? 

Sleep  you  because  your  mother  wakes  nearby? 

No  bitterer  foe  e'er  held  you  in  his  grasp. 

How  could  you  sleep  while  I  was  wakeful  near? 

Go  inside,  children;  there — ^there  may  you  rest. 

When  Gora  flees  from  the  burning  palace,  and  comes  to 
tell  of  Creusa's  death,  Medea  hurries  away  and  completes 
her  revenge. 

In  the  last  scene  of  Grillparzer's  tragedy,  as  in  Eurip- 
ides's  play,  Medea  and  Jason  confront  each  other  once 
more.  But  whereas  the  classic  drama  ends  in  bitter  mutual 
reproach,  and  Medea  departs  unmoved,  predicting  evil  to 
Jason,  the  modern  poet  provides  a  nobler  climax.  The 
touching  conclusion  of  her  apostrophe  to  Jason  reawakens 
the  sympathy  of  the  spectator: 

Bear  then  what  has  been  meted  out  to  thee, 

Thy  fate  shall  be  what  thy  deserts  demand. 

As  thou  before  me  liest  on  the  ground. 

Thus  lay  in  Colchis  I  before  thee  once. 

And  prayed  for  mercy.    Hadst  thou  mercy  then? 

Thy  sacrilegious  fingers  grasped  thy  lot. 


106     GEILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTKIAN  DRAMA 

Although  I  called :  "Death  is  thy  touch  to  thee." 
Take  then  what  sullenly  thy  heart  desired. 
Thy  death.    But  I  take  final  leave  of  thee; 
It  is  the  last  farewell,  f ore'er  the  last, 
I  bid  thee  now,  my  husband.    Fare  thee  well! 
Remembering  all  the  joys  of  bygone  days. 
In  all  the  anguish  that  enshrouds  us  both. 
In  all  the  sadness  which  the  future  bodes, 
I  still  say,  fare  thee  well,  O  husband  mine! 
A  fate  of  sorrow  darkening  looms  for  thee. 
Yet  be  prepared  to  meet  thy  stern  decree. 
In  suffering  stronger  than  thou  wast  in  deed. 
And  if  thy  anguish  greater  than  thy  strength. 
Let  my  surpassing  woe  console  thee  still, 
For  I  have  done  what  thou  hast  merely  borne. 

Like  Sappho's  final  note  of  resignation,  Medea's  last 
words  are : 

"Bear,  suffer,  and  atone." 

It  would  scarcely  be  profitable  to  trace  in  this  place  the 
relationship  between  Grillparzer's  drama  and  the  Medea 
of  Euripides.  Both  retain  their  hold  on  the  reader  and 
spectator  by  an  appeal  to  the  primal  emotions  which  defy 
age  and  custom.  An  American  student  of  Grillparzer,  Mr. 
William  Guild  Howard,  of  Harvard  University,  justly 
remarks  that  "it  may  be  doubted  whether  of  the  many 
dramas  in  European  literature  treating  the  fate  of  Jason 
and  Medea,  the  first,  that  of  Euripides,  is  not,  next  to 
Grillparzer's,  the  least  antiquated."  Leaving  aside  the 
multitude  of  lesser  dramatists  who  have  tried  to  modern- 
ize the  story  of  the  golden  fleece,  one  is  tempted  to  com- 
pare Grillparzer's  "Medea"  with  that  of  Corneille,  a  work 
which,  with  all  its  shortcomings,  did  not  deserve  the  fate 


DAS  GOLDENE  VLIESS         ^  107 

that  has  overtaken  it.  The  "Medea"  of  Longepierre, 
says  the  learned  Corneille  editor,  M.  Marty-Laveaux, 
first  performed  in  1694,  and  kept  before  the  public 
throughout  the  eighteenth  century,  has  thrown  that  of 
Corneille  into  complete  obscurity.  Corneille's  "Medea," 
while  it  cannot  claim  to  reproduce  the  atmosphere  and 
the  spirit  of  the  Greek  play  as  closely  as  does  Grill- 
parzer's,  has  supplied  the  text  for  hosts  of  subsequent 
adapters  of  the  classic  legend;  Grillparzer  himself  bor- 
rowed from  it  the  figure  of  Creusa,  which  he  endowed 
with  such  charm.  There  is  endless  scope  for  the  fancy  of 
the  student  of  comparative  literature  in  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  characters  of  Medea  and  Jason  as  portrayed  by 
Euripides  on  the  one  hand,  and  Corneille  and  Grillparzer 
on  the  other.  The  latter,  it  is  true,  has  softened  the  char- 
acter of  Jason — as  he  has,  at  the  close,  that  of  Medea — 
but  his  picture  remains  true  to  the  calculating  egotist  of 
the  original.  His  hero  has  his  sentimental  moods,  but 
Grillparzer's  Jason,  through  all  his  vacillations  and  in- 
consistencies, could  never  have  indulged  in  the  utterly  un- 
Greek  affectation  of  Corneille's: 

^'Mon  coeur,  qui  se  partage  en  deux  affections, 
Se  laisse  dechirer  a  mille  passions, 
Je  dois  tout  a  Medee,  et  je  ne  puis  sans  honte 
Et  d'elle  et  de  ma  foi  tenir  si  peu  de  conte, 
Je  regrette  Medee,  et  j 'adore  Creuse." 

Corneille  followed  Seneca's  Latin  play  throughout,  and 
often  startles  us  by  strangely  gallicized  lines,  as  in  the 

"Va,  bienheureux  amant,  cajoler  ta  maitresse" 
(I  nunc,  superbe,  virginum  thalamos  pete). 


108     GKILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

while  Grillparzer's  diction  combines  with  the  naive  direct- 
ness of  the  original  those  exquisitely  delicate,  realistic 
touches  of  which  he  alone,  among  modern  dramatists,  has 
the  secret.  The  trilogy  abounds  in  these.  In  a  few  simple 
lines  we  have  placed  before  us  the  contrast  between  Col- 
chis as  seen  by  Jason  and  Medea.    Jason  describes  it  thus : 

The  day  is  night  there,  and  the  night  is  horror. 
And  darker  than  the  night  are  those  that  dwell  there, 

while  Medea  longingly  exclaims: 

O  Colchis,  land  thou  where  my  fathers  lived. 
They  call  thee  dark,  to  me  thou'rt  light  itself. 

Sometimes  a  singularly  telling  effect  is  produced  by  the 
repetition  of  a  phrase  with  the  change  of  but  a  single 
word,  as  in  the  description  of  Medea  by  Milo,  Jason's 
friend : 

A  woman  fearful  with  her  deep,  dark  eyes, 

and  Jason's  reply: 

A  woman  glorious  with  her  deep,  dark  eyes. 

The  trilogy,  in  spite  of  some  repetitions,  is  a  noble  and 
consistent  whole.  Medea  herself,  as  depicted  by  Grill- 
parzer,  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  characters  in  all  litera- 
ture. "We  shall  dare  place  beside  her,"  says  Mr.  Howard, 
"only  the  very  greatest  tragic  characters  in  the  modern 
European  drama — Eacine's  Athalie,  Hebbel's  Kriemhild, 
or  Shakespeare's  Lady  Macbeth." 


VII 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE 

'^  'Medea'  is  the  last  of  my  plays,"  Grillparzer  writes  in 
his  autobiography,  "that  has  made  its  way  to  the  non- 
Austrian  stage  of  our  German  fatherland."  He  finds  the 
spirit  of  the  times  set  against  works  of  imagination. 
Spectators,  actors  and  writers  seem  to  him  to  succumb 
alike  to  this  indifference.  That  Grillparzer  did  not  make 
light  of  the  popular  verdict  as  to  "The  Golden  Fleece"  is 
shown  in  the  following  passage : 

"I  have  always  placed  a  high  value  on  the  judgment  of 
the  public.  As  regards  the  conception  of  his  play,  the 
dramatic  poet  must  follow  his  own  idea,  but  as  to  whether 
in  its  execution  he  has  been  true  to  human  nature,  as  we 
daily  find  it,  only  its  representative,  the  public,  can  en- 
lighten him.  Its  right  to  pronounce  judgment  is  founded 
not  in  knowledge  of  the  law,  but  in  its  naturalness  and 
freedom  from  preconceived  notions.  Of  this  naturalness, 
which  in  northern  Germany  has  been  pushed  into  the 
background  by  false  culture  and  slavish  imitation,  a  large 
remnant  is  still  to  be  found  in  Austria,  coupled  with  a 
receptivity  which,  if  properly  guided  by  the  poet,  may 
lead  to  an  almost  incredible  keenness  of  judgment.  The 
favorable  opinion  of  such  a  public  proves  little,  for  it 
wants  above  all  to  be  entertained,  but  its  displeasure  is  in 


110     GMLLPAEZER  AND  THE  AIJSTRIAN  DRAMA 

the  highest  degree  instructive.  In  this  case  it  contented 
itself  with  a  succes  d^estime." 

The  impulse  of  the  artist  in  search  of  new  themes, 
heightened  bj  patriotic  motive,  led  the  disappointed  au- 
thor into  a  field  where  he  was  destined  to  achieve  some  of 
his  most  notable  triumphs — ^that  of  Austrian  history. 
Grillparzer  has  left  a  vivid  record  of  the  origin  of  his 
drama,  "Konig  Ottokars  Gliick  und  Ende"  (King 
Ottokar's  Fortune  and  End). 

"The  fate  of  I^apoleon  was  at  that  time  fresh  in  every- 
body's memory.  I  had  read  with  an  avidity  that  drove 
almost  every  other  subject  from  my  thoughts  all  that  had 
been  written  about  that  extraordinary  man  by  himself  and 
others.  I  regretted  that  the  divergent  views  concerning 
the  principal  facts  of  his  life  rendered  a  poetic  treatment 
of  them  impossible,  not  only  for  the  time  being,  but  prob- 
ably for  the  future.  Full  of  such  impressions,  I  gathered 
up  some  of  my  recollections  of  other  historical  subjects, 
and  while  thus  occupied,  I  was  struck  with  a  certain 
resemblance,  remote,  it  is  true,  between  ^Napoleon  and  the 
Bohemian  King  Ottokar  II.  Both,  notwithstanding  the 
great  difference  between  them,  men  of  valor,  both  con- 
querors, who,  without  real  malignancy  in  their  composi- 
tion, were  driven  by  circumstances  to  harshness,  nay 
tyranny,  and  both  rulers  who,  after  fortune  had  been  true 
to  them  for  many  years,  met  with  a  sad  end,  the  turning 
point  in  the  fate  of  both  being  the  dissolution  of 
their  first  marriage,  followed  by  a  second.  And  since  the 
downfall  of  Ottokar  resulted  in  the  foundation  of  the 
Hapsburg  dynasty  in  Austria,  an  Austrian  poet  could  not 
help  finding  in  that  historic  episode  an  invaluable  treas- 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      111 

ure.  It  was  thus  not  the  fate  of  ISTapoleon  which  I  wanted 
to  describe  in  that  of  Ottokar,  although  even  the  slight 
resemblance  between  the  two  excited  my  enthusiasm. 
The  subject,  moreover,  was  peculiar  in  that  I  found 
in  history  and  legend,  ready  at  hand,  nearly  all  the  events 
needed  for  my  purposes.  In  order  not  to  be  compelled 
to  introduce  needless  incidents  of  my  own  invention  I  be- 
gan to  devour  whatever  I  could  rake  together  concerning 
the  history  of  Austria  and  Bohemia  during  the  period  in 
question." 

Grillparzer's  natural  interest  in  the  past  of  his  father- 
land was  undoubtedly  stimulated  by  a  remark  of  August 
Wilhelm  Schlegel,  in  his  "Lectures  on  Dramatic  Art  and 
Literature,"  delivered  in  Vienna,  as  to  the  extraordinary 
wealth  of  dramatic  themes  in  the  history  of  Austria. 
Baron  Hormayr,  the  editor  of  a  periodical  called  Aus- 
trian Archives,  had  raised  the  question  "whether  the  his- 
tory of  Austria  offered  less  noble  subjects  for  the  drama, 
ballad,  legend,  the  novel  and  the  plastic  arts  than  the  his- 
tory of  antiquity  or  that  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  other  coun- 
tries." Grillparzer  hated  Schlegel  and  disliked  Hormayr, 
but,  as  Ehrhard  says,  "he  carried  out  in  his  'Ottokar'  the 
best  part  of  their  programme."  The  French  professor  very 
justly  refutes  the  reproach  of  his  German  colleague 
Volkelt,  that  Grillparzer  in  reality  cared  little  for  history. 
Grillparzer,  like  Schopenhauer,  had  little  patience  with  the 
propounders  of  cut-and-dried  systems.  "He  deplored," 
says  Ehrhard,  "the  influence  of  Hegel,  whose  disciples 
combined  philosophy  with  history,  just  as  they  mixed  it 
with  poetry."  Grillparzer's  lucid  intellect  was  repelled  by 
those  historians  who  dealt  largely  in  abstractions.     Ger- 


112     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

vinus  was  in  his  eyes  the  very  worst  type  of  those  histori- 
cal writers  who  envelop  the  reader  in  a  cloud  of  learned 
phrases,  while  unable  to  place  before  him  the  picture  of  an 
epoch  or  the  portrait  of  a  man.  And  he  thus  defines  the 
functions  of  the  poet  in  search  of  historical  subjects : 

"I  was  on  firm  historic  ground,  as  regards  the  tragic 
drama,  long  before  Ludwig  Tieck  and  his  worshippers 
held  forth  on  that  subject  in  their  stupid  way.  Stupid 
indeed.  For  the  poet  selects  historical  subjects  because 
he  finds  in  them  a  germ  for  his  own  themes,  above  all,  in 
order  to  give  to  the  events  and  persons  of  his  own  choos- 
ing a  certain  consistency  and  appearance  of  reality.  He 
endeavors  to  transplant  into  the  realm  of  bodily  existence 
what  is  properly  part  of  dreamland.  'No  one  would  care 
for  an  imaginary  hero  who  by  imaginary  deeds  of  valor 
conquered  an  imaginary  land.  And  especially  is  it  neces- 
sary to  have  a  background  of  reality  if  what  is  described 
transcends  ordinary  bounds ;  for  otherwise  it  will  become 
simply  ludicrous.  A  fictitious  Alexander  the  Great  or 
IsTapoleon  would  excite  the  ridicule  of  every  sensible  per- 
son. But  the  question  of  what  is  strictly  historical,  that  is 
to  say,  what  is  actually  true,  not  only  as  to  events,  but  as 
to  motives  and  development,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
subject  itself.  Schiller's  masterpiece  would  remain  what 
it  is,  for  all  time  to  come,  independently  of  all  historic 
truth,  even  if  to-day  documents  were  discovered  proving 
either  Wallenstein's  complete  guilt  or  his  innocence. 
Shakespeare  found  ready  at  hand  what  was  then  called 
"history"  and  used  it  in  his  own  way.  In  all  his  historical 
plays,  what  he  himself  added  is  the  most  interesting  part 
of  them,  as  witness  the  comic  personages  in  ^Henry  IV.,' 


KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      113 

the  inimitable  Hotspur,  the  heartrending  scenes  in  'King 
John,'  etc.  And  it  must  be  confessed  that  had  he  not 
written  the  plays  founded  on  tales  and  legends,  there 
would  be  little  talk  of  his  historical  plays.  Indeed,  what 
is  history  ?  About  the  character  of  what  historical  person 
are  opinions  agreed  ?  The  historian  knows  little,  but  the 
poet  must  know  everything." 

Judged  by  this  view  of  the  province  of  the  historical 
drama,  the  censure  of  some  of  Grillparzer's  critics  becomes 
purposeless.  Indeed,  as  Dr.  O.  E.  Lessing  remarks,  ''the 
alleged  defects  of  'Ottokar'  constitute  one  of  its  greatest 
merits.  Grillparzer,  who  shared  Schiller's  theory  of  the 
historical  drama,  in  practice  went  considerably  beyond 
Schiller.  He  surpassed  the  older  master  in  psychological 
accuracy  of  characterization  and  in  the  use  of  actual 
episodes  that  lend  consistence  to  the  dramatic  structure. 
He  knows,  better  than  Schiller,  how  to  convince  us  of 
the  inevitableness  of  what  has  happened  by  the  sheer 
force  of  the  events  themselves.  Grillparzer's  characters 
do  not  make  history  out  of  the  depths  of  philosophic 
consciousness,  they  are  alive  and  are  history.  Grill- 
parzer's  ideas  are  expressed  not  in  fair  words  but  in 
deeds." 

The  period  during  which  Grillparzer  wrote  "Ottokar" 
was  perhaps  the  happiest  of  his  life.  In  the  winter  of 
1820-21  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Katharina  Frohlich, 
with  whose  name  his  own  is  inseparably  linked.  She  was 
one  of  four  gifted  sisters,  all  endowed  with  a  charm  of 
person  and  manner  which  secured  them  entrance  into  the 
best  society  of  Vienna.  Katharina,  who  was  ten  years 
younger  than  Grillparzer,  possessed  striking  beauty.    As 


114     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

a  child  she  attracted  the  attention  of  the  emperor  Francis 
as  she  happened  to  walk  through  a  corridor  of  the  imperial 
palace.  He  stopped  her,  stroked  her  beautiful  hair,  and 
asked  her  name — an  incident  commemorated  by  the  poet, 
as  we  shall  see,  in  "Ottokar.''  Grillparzer  had  first  met 
her  elder  sisters  at  musical  soirees,  where  he  admired 
their  artistic  power  and  conversational  grace,  and  he 
found  it  diflScult  to  choose  between  the  four.  But  Katha- 
rina's  natural  gayety,  goodness  of  heart,  and  emotional 
charm  proved  irresistible.  She  was  genuineness  itself. 
While  not  much  better  educated  than  the  average  Viennese 
girl  of  those  days,  she  possessed  an  innate  mother  wit  and 
soundness  of  judgment  which  captivated  the  poet.  He 
spent  blissful  evenings  at  the  modest  salon  of  the  Eroh- 
lichs.  Schubert  was  a  frequent  guest  there.  He  com- 
posed his  "Serenade"  for  Josephine,  the  most  gifted  of  the 
sisters,  a  singer  of  renown.  On  such  evenings  Katharina, 
seated  next  to  the  poet,  abandoned  herself  to  dreams  of 
happiness  evoked  by  Schubert's  improvisations  on  the 
piano.    Alas !  they  were  not  to  be  realized. 

Meantime  Grillparzer's  official  position  had  undergone 
a  favorable  change.  The  first  use  he  made  of  an  increase 
in  his  salary  was  to  cancel  his  contract  as  dramatic  poet  to 
the  Burgtheater,  in  order  to  be  free  to  dispose  of  his  work 
as  he  chose.  His  official  duties  in  the  finance  department 
were  light  enough,  the  only  disagreeable  feature  being  the 
necessity  of  reporting  to  Count  Stadion,  in  the  absence  of 
the  ministerial  secretary,  at  all  hours  of  the  night.  Count 
Stadion  often  went  to  bed  toward  morning  and  rose  at  noon. 
"I  had  to  give  him  an  account,''  Grillparzer  writes,  "after 
midnight,  on  his  return  from  some  social  affair,  of  all  sorts 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   115 

of  transactions  and  official  papers — a  duty  which,  half 
asleep  as  I  was,  I  did  not  always  discharge  with  great 
promptness."  In  the  summer  Grillparzer  accompanied  the 
minister  to  his  estates,  and  he  records,  with  justifiable 
satisfaction,  that  Count  Stadion  "made  it  plain  how 
pleased  he  was  to  be  able  to  introduce  to  his  family, 
instead  of  my  ignorant  predecessor,  a  poet  and  a  man  of 
parts." 

Grillparzer  did  not  feel  at  ease  in  the  company  in  which 
he  found  himself.  "When  there  were  visits  from  noble 
families  in  the  vicinity  or  from  diplomats  of  the  second 
rank,  belonging  to  the  sphere  formerly  occupied  by  the 
count,  there  was  a  hubbub  and  noise  to  which  my  nerves 
did  not  prove  equal.  The  emptiest  and  most  witless  of  all 
were  the  diplomats,  and  I  often  sighed  when  I  subse- 
quently read  their  names  as  participants  in  the  political 
deliberations  of  bygone  days.  They  entertained  the  count 
with  coarse  and  scandalous  stories  taken  from  their  daily 
experiences,  and  it  was  very  evident  that  they  were  looking 
in  the  very  house  of  their  present  host  for  material  with 
which  to  entertain  those  whom  they  were  now  ridiculing. 
The  count  knew  all  this  as  well  as  I  did,  but  he  was  in- 
different to  it.  He  was  altogether,  as  regards  strength  of 
character,  one  of  the  notable  men  of  his  time.  He  had  an 
almost  incredible  control  over  himself.  For  the  demands 
of  society  the  inanity  of  court  life  and  of  the  diplomatic 
salons  had  been  a  good  preparatory  school ;  but  even  so  it 
was  wonderful  how  he  succeeded  in  finding  always  some- 
thing to  amuse  or  interest  him  in  every  contingency  that 
arose.  But  he  demanded  the  same  self-control  of  every 
true  man,  and  I  am  convinced  that  he  took  my  boyish  vacil- 


116    GBILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTBIAN  DRAMA 

lations  very  ill,  although  he  never  gave  a  sign  of  displeas- 
ure. Yet  it  was  this  very  kindness  that  made  a  real  dis- 
play of  energy  on  my  part  impossible.'' 

Two  years  had  elapsed  since  the  manuscript  of  "Otto- 
kar"  reached  the  public  censor,  and  there  was  still  no 
answer  concerning  its  fate.  Inquiry  of  various  officials 
revealed  nothing  as  to  its  whereabouts.  The  play  appar- 
ently had  vanished.  Einally  some  one  suggested  that  it 
might  possibly  be  in  the  hands  of  the  court  councillor 
Gentz,  Metternich's  powerful  secretary,  and  Grillparzer 
called  at  his  house.  Gentz,  a  German  publicist  of  great 
ability,  but  utterly  without  principles,  who  had  sold  his 
pen  to  Metternich,  was  precisely  the  sort  of  official  most 
repugnant  to  Grillparzer,  who  has  left  on  record  a  vivid 
picture  of  his  interview  with  him. 

"I  well  remember  how  disgusted  I  was  by  all  I  saw  in 
the  man's  apartments.  The  floor  of  the  antechamber  was 
covered  with  padded  carpets  to  such  a  depth  that  at  every 
step  one  sank  into  them  as  if  into  a  bog,  and  experienced  a 
sensation  akin  to  seasickness.  On  all  the  tables  and 
bureaus  stood  covered  glass  dishes  with  preserved  fruit, 
ready  to  gratify  the  momentary  appetite  of  the  sybaritic 
occupant  of  the  dwelling;  in  his  bedroom  he  himself  lay 
on  a  snow-white  couch,  clad  in  a  dressing-gown  of  gray 
silk.  He  was  surrounded  by  every  imaginable  contrivance 
pandering  to  ease  and  comfort.  There  were  movable 
armchairs  to  bring  pen  and  ink  nearer  to  him,  a  desk 
which  moved  automatically  toward  and  away  from  him, 
etc.  He  received  me  coldly,  but  with  politeness.  He  ad- 
mitted having  read  my  play,  but  said  that  he  had  passed 
it  on.     I  left  him.     I  went  elsewhere,  from  one  place  to 


KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      117 

another,  only  to  meet  with  new  uncertainties.  Finally  all 
trace  of  the  play  was  lost. 

"What  my  situation  was  may  well  be  imagined.  I  could 
not  think  of  choosing  a  new  subject,  for  if  one  so  loyally 
patriotic  met  with  difficulties,  what  hope  of  success  was 
there  for  another?  At  last,  however,  help  came  from  a 
quarter  where  I  had  least  expected  it.  The  present  dow- 
ager-empress, at  that  time  reigning  empress,  was  indis- 
posed. The  poet  Matthaus  Collin,  one  of  the  teachers  of 
the  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  called  on  her,  probably  in  order 
to  report  about  the  progress  of  his  pupil.  The  empress,  a 
woman  of  much  education,  asked  him  to  suggest  some  in- 
teresting books  to  her.  He  mentioned  a  few,  which  she 
had  already  read.  Finally  she  said:  'Why  don't  you  go 
to  the  office  of  the  imperial  theatre,  and  ask  whether  there 
is  not  on  hand  some  interesting  manuscript  play?  I 
should  witness  its  performance  with  all  the  greater  inter- 
est after  having  read  it.'  Collin  went  to  the  office,  but 
learned  that  there  were  on  hand  only  a  few  insignificant 
one-act  comedies,  whose  value  lay  solely  in  the  opportunity 
they  gave  to  skilful  performers.  'Konig  Ottokars  Gliick 
und  Ende,'  he  was  told,  was  a  play  that  might  be  of  inter- 
est to  her  majesty,  but  that  had  for  two  years  been  in  the 
hands  of  the  censor,  and  all  efforts  to  recover  it  had  proved 
fruitless.  Collin  went  straight  to  the  bureau  of  the  censor, 
and  when  he  told  the  nature  of  his  errand,  the  manuscript 
was  at  once  found. 

"Collin  read  the  play  to  the  empress,  who  could  not  suf- 
ficiently express  her  astonishment  that  there  should  have 
been  any  idea  of  prohibiting  it.  While  it  was  being  read 
aloud  to  her  the  emperor  entered  her  apartment.    The  em- 


118     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

press  told  him  what  she  thought  about  the  play,  and  that 
she  had  found  in  it  nothing  but  what  was  good  and  praise- 
worthy. ^If  that  is  so/  said  the  emperor,  ^let  Collin  go 
to  the  censor  and  tell  him  to  give  his  permission  for  the 
performance  of  the  play.'  Collin,  a  man  of  the  highest 
sense  of  honor,  has  never  made  a  secret  of  this  occurrence, 
and  thus  I  have  heard  of  it.  It  was  thus  by  the  merest 
accident  that  a  work  which,  not  to  speak  of  anything 
else,  had  cost  me  more  than  a  year's  labor  in  collecting  the 
material,  did  not  vanish  from  the  earth." 

A  few  years  after  the  performance  of  ^^Ottokar"  Grill- 
parzer  had  an  amusing  encounter  with  a  court  councillor 
connected  with  the  censor's  bureau,  which  threw  light  on 
the  mysterious  disappearance  of  his  play  as  well  as  on  the 
workings  of  that  institution.  The  official,  whom  the  poet 
met  accidentally  in  a  stage-coach,  began  the  conversation 
with  the  stereotyped  question  why  Grillparzer  v^rote  so 
little.  "I  answered,  that  he,  as  an  official  censor,  ought  to 
be  in  a  sufficiently  good  position  to  know  the  reason. 
'Yes,'  was  his  reply,  'that  is  the  way  with  you  literary 
men.  You  always  imagine  the  censor  engaged  in  a  con- 
spiracy against  you.  When  your  "Ottokar"  was  held  up 
for  two  years  you  probably  believed  that  a  bitter  enemy 
of  yours  prevented  its  performance.  Do  you  know  who 
kept  it  back?  I  myself,  and  the  Lord  knows  I  am  no 
enemy  of  yours.'  'But,  my  dear  court  councillor,'  I 
answered,  'what  was  there  in  the  play  that  seemed  so  dan- 
gerous to  you  ?'  'Nothing  at  all,'  said  he,  'but  I  thought : 
After  all,  one  can't  be  sure' — and  this  the  man  said  in  a 
tone  of  the  utmost  friendliness,  showing  that  the  official 
in  charge  of  literary  matters  had  not  the  faintest  concep- 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      119 

tion  of  literary  property  rights.  It  never  entered  his  mind 
that  the  work  of  a  poet  might  have  as  good  a  claim  to  ap- 
preciation and  compensation  as  that  of  an  official  or  an 
artisan." 

"Konig  Ottokars  Gliick  und  Ende"  V7as  performed  at 
the  Burgtheater  on  the  19th  of  Fehruary,  1825. 

Grillparzer  followed  in  his  drama  substantially  the  ac- 
count of  Ottokar's  career  as  given  in  the  ^'Khymed  Chroni- 
cle of  Austria/'  written  in  1306-20.  A  summary  is  of 
interest  as  throwing  light  on  the  use  which  the  poet  made 
of  his  material. 

During  the  troubles  following  the  extinction  of  the 
Babenberg  dynasty,  Ottokar  of  Bohemia  invades  Austria 
and  takes  up  his  residence  at  Vienna.  He  marries  Mar- 
garet, sister  of  Duke  Frederick,  the  last  of  the  Baben- 
bergs.  She  was  the  widow  of  King  Henry,  who  had  ceded 
to  her  his  rights  to  Austria  and  Styria.  King  Bela  of 
Hungary  disputes  Ottokar's  title  to  Styria,  and  is  van- 
quished by  the  Bohemian  king  in  the  battle  of  Marchegg. 
Having  become  the  most  powerful  of  German  princes, 
Ottokar  divorces  Margaret,  in  order  to  marry  Kunigunde, 
Bela's  granddaughter.  He  carries  on  a  victorious  cam- 
paign in  the  jN'orth  against  the  pagan  Prussians,  while  in 
the  South  he  joins  Carinthia  and  Carniola  to  the  states 
under  his  sceptre.  Uniform  success  renders  him  tyranni- 
cal. He  throws  into  prison  a  number  of  Styrian  noble- 
men falsely  accused  of  having  conspired  against  him, 
and  subjects  one  of  them,  Siegfried  von  Merenberg,  to 
cruel  torture.  He  is  suspended  by  his  feet,  with  his  head 
down,  and  the  jailer  breaks  his  skull.  Ottokar  aspires  now 
to  the  dignity  of  emperor  of  Germany,  and  enters  into  in- 


120     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

trigues  to  obtain  the  votes  of  the  electors  assembled  at 
Frankfort.  But  Rudolph  of  Hapsburg  is  chosen  instead, 
and  is  crowned  at  Aix-la-Chapelle.  As  prince  of  the  em- 
pire, Ottokar  is  summoned  to  Nuremberg,  to  render  hom- 
age to  the  new  emperor.  He  refuses  to  go,  nor  does  he 
heed  a  second  summons  to  Augsburg.  Rudolph  thereupon 
despatches  the  burgrave  of  Nuremberg  to  demand  of  him 
the  restoration  of  the  provinces  of  Austria  and  Styria,  to 
which  he  has  no  title  after  having  repudiated  Margaret. 
The  nobles  of  Austria  and  Styria,  tired  of  Ottokar's 
tyranny,  rally  around  the  emperor.  Ottokar  attempts  to 
check  their  defection  and  seizes  some  as  hostages.  Ru- 
dolph descends  the  Danube,  everywhere  hailed  with  joy. 
Austrians  and  Styrians  join  him  in  the  siege  of  Vienna. 
Its  burgomaster,  Paltram,  a  partisan  of  Ottokar,  is  forced 
by  the  inhabitants  to  surrender  the  town  to  Rudolph. 
Ottokar  is  furious  at  the  news.  His  chancellor.  Bishop 
Braun  of  Olmiitz,  seeks  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation  be- 
tween the  two  monarchs,  and  Ottokar  finally  listens  to  his 
advice.  He  goes  to  Vienna,  and,  kneeling  before  Rudolph, 
is  invested  by  him  with  the  crowns  of  Bohemia  and 
Moravia,  after  he  has  renounced  his  claim  to  the  provinces 
brought  to  him  by  Margaret  in  marriage.  On  his  return  to 
Prague,  Queen  Kunigunde  loads  him  with  reproaches  for 
having  thus  humbled  himself  before  his  rival.  Stung  by 
her  insults,  he  swears  to  retrieve  himself  in  her  eyes,  and 
tears  the  treaty  of  peace  concluded  with  Rudolph.  His 
courtiers  vainly  attempt  to  dissuade  him  from  his  pur- 
pose, although  he  recognizes  that  in  declaring  war  against 
Rudolph  he  decrees  his  own  ruin.  He  meets  the  imperial 
army  on  the  banks  of  the  river  March.    Rudolph's  soldiers 


KOXIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   121 

prepare  for  battle  bj  prayer  and  by  receiving  the  com- 
munion. Ottokar  is  abandoned  during  the  fight  by  a  por- 
tion of  his  troops,  incited  by  their  commander,  Milota,  who 
thus  avenges  his  brother,  who  had  fallen  a  victim  to  Otto- 
kar's  malice.  Ottokar,  defeated  and  wounded,  implores 
Kudolph's  mercy,  but  is  killed  by  a  nephew  of  Siegfried 
von  Merenberg.  His  body  is  stripped  by  soldiers;  a 
knight  charitably  covers  it  with  a  cloak.  No  one  deplores 
his  death,  least  of  all  his  wife,  who  marries  Zawisch,  a 
Bohemian  noble,  her  paramour.  Thus  far  the  "Ehymed 
Chronicle,"  as  summarized  by  Ehrhard. 

The  life  of  the  Bohemian  king  had  formed  the  theme 
of  two  tragedies  before  Grillparzer's  drama.  Lope  de 
Vega's  play,  "La,  imperial  de  Oton,"  was  possibly  unknown 
to  him ;  at  all  events,  he  borrowed  nothing  from  the  rather 
fantastic  Spanish  work.  Kotzebue's  "Rudolph  von  Habs- 
burg  und  Konig  Ottokar  von  Bohmen,"  which  appeared 
in  1815,  was  a  prosy  and  insipid  string  of  historical  epi- 
sodes. Grillparzer  deviated  in  some  essentials  from  the 
traditions  of  Ottokar's  life  as  set  forth  in  the  "Chronicle." 
Ottokar' s  desire  for  an  heir,  which  Margaret  cannot 
gratify,  merely  cloaks  his  passion  for  the  youthful  charmer, 
Kunigunde  of  Hungary.  He  had  previously  enticed  away 
Bertha,  a  young  noblewoman,  from  Seyfried  von  Meren- 
berg, whom  he  makes  the  son  of  Siegfried,  who  figures 
in  the  "Chronicle."  His  desertion  of  Bertha  had  arrayed 
against  him  the  hostility  of  the  three  Rosenbergs,  powerful 
and  unscrupulous  Bohemian  nobles — Benesch,  the  father, 
Milota,  the  uncle,  and  Zawisch,  the  cousin,  of  Bertha. 
Zawisch,  impelled  mainly  by  desire  to  wreak  vengeance 
upon  the  king,  seeks  to  gain  the  affection  of  the  queen. 


122     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Ottokar's  treatment  of  Margaret  alienates  from  him  the 
nobles  of  Austria  and  Styria.  The  indignities  heaped 
upon  them  open  the  eyes  of  the  delegates  who  have  come  to 
offer  him  the  imperial  crown.  His  overweening  pride  in 
ostensibly  disdaining  the  title  of  emperor  prepares  the  way 
for  his  final  downfall. 

Grillparzer  presents  in  various  ways  the  character  of 
Ottokar  in  a  less  sombre  light  than  does  the  "Chronicle." 
He  is  there  depicted  as  having  rid  himself  of  Margaret  by 
poison,  just  as  he  had  caused  the  barbarous  death  of  the 
elder  Merenberg.  In  the  play  Ottokar  is  troubled  by  re- 
morse for  having  thrown  Merenberg  into  prison.  He  re- 
tains to  the  last  the  attachment  of  devoted  followers. 
Whatever  his  faults,  hypocrisy  and  intrigue  are  foreign 
to  his  character. 

In  more  than  one  passage  Grillparzer  emphasises  the  re- 
semblance of  Ottokar  to  Napoleon,  although,  in  Ehrhard's 
words,  "his  theme,  a  downfall  due  to  pride  and  tyranny, 
forbade  his  investing  Ottokar  with  the  grandeur  of  a  man 
whose  eye  had  fascinated  him  when  he  saw  him  standing 
on  the  flight  of  steps  in  front  of  the  castle  of  Schonbrunn." 
As  so  often  in  his  writings,  so  also  in  this  drama,  Grill- 
I  parzer  dwells  on  the  need  of  looking  in  one's  own  heart 
*  for  earthly  peace  and.  Jiappiness.  Napoleon  was  far  from 
supplying  a  suitable  illustration  for  such  a  text.  In  some 
detached  prose  reflections,  as  in  two  poems  devoted  to  the 
fallen  conqueror,  Grillparzer  has  left  on  record  his  real 
estimate  of  Napoleon's  character :  "What  was  it  that  urged 
him  on  to  his  gigantic  enterprises?  Was  it  a  desire  for 
the  happiness  of  France,  of  the  world  at  large  ?  He  prob- 
ably never  dreamed  of  either.     Did  he  wish  to  descend  to 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLttCK  UND  ENDE      123 

posterity  ?  He  surely  never  believed  so  firmly  in  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul  that  the  immortality  of  his  fame 
could  have  been  a  powerful  motive  in  his  actions.  What 
was  it  then  ?  The  desire  of  his  unceasingly  active  spirit 
for  ever  new  and  ever  stronger  excitement.  He  lacked  the 
capacity  for  enjoyment.  He  was  impelled  to  ceaseless  ac- 
tion, else  he  would  have  been  consumed  by  his  internal  fire. 

In  contrast  with  Ottokar^s  vaulting  ambition,  Grill- 
parzer  represented  in  Rudolph  a  man  of  clearly  defined 
perception  of  duty,  sure  of  himself,  though  not  of  the  de- 
crees of  fate.  The  poet  has  been  blamed  for  his  undue 
glorification  of  the  Hapsburgs  in  his  portrayal  of  Rudolph, 
and  for  retaining  in  the  drama  all  the  religious  fervor 
with  which  the  chronicles  had  endowed  the  emperor.  As 
for  the  former  charge,  Grillparzer,  in  spite  of  all  the  bit- 
terness of  his  resentment  against  Metternich,  the  bureau- 
cracy, and  the  priesthood,  never  concealed  his  loyalty 
toward  the  dynasty ;  while  Rudolph's  piety  seemed  to  him 
entitled  to  as  legitimate  a  place  in  drama  as  had  been 
accorded  to  it  in  Schiller's  ballad  "Der  Graf  von  Habs- 
burg.''  In  both  cases  the  artistic  and  realistic  triumph 
achieved  was  its  own  justification. 

The  touching  figure  of  Margaret,  whose  fate  resembles 
that  of  Queen  Katharine  in  "Henry  VIII.,"  is  endowed 
with  the  delicate  feminine  traits  Grillparzer  knew  so  well 
how  to  portray.  Her  conception  of  wifely  duty,  after  she 
has  ceased  to  be  a  wife,  and  the  faithlessness  of  Kunigunde 
are  contrasted  with  admirable  skill.  Perfidious  Zawisoh, 
who  talks  little  and  does  so  much,  exercises  a  singular  fas- 
cination over  the  spectator.  In  the  hands  of  an  accom- 
plished actor,  the  role  is  one  of  the  most  effective  imagi- 


124    GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

nable.  Grillparzer  had  a  rather  low  opinion  of  histrionic 
art,  but  few  dramatists  have  so  greatly  relied  on  the  actor 
to  supplement  and  complete  their  conceptions.  There  is  a 
wealth  of  suggestion  in  Zawisch's  ejaculations  and 
innuendos.  The  poet,  in  his  talks  with  Foglar  (^^Grill- 
parzers  Ansichten  iiber  Litteratur,  Biihne  und  Leben"), 
gave  a  hint  of  that  rare  mastery  of  dramatic  technique 
which  went  to  the  elaboration  of  his  characters.  "A  young 
dramatic  author,'^  he  said,  ^'ought  to  transport  himself  in 
thought  to  the  pit,  and  see  whether  the  person  on  the  stage 
keeps  to  the  right  or  left,  whether  he  raises  this  or  that 
hand,  whether  he  stands  or  sits;  he  ought,  as  it  were,  to 
see  every  button  on  his  coat.''  With  the  same  sure  instinct 
for  dramatic  effect,  which  at  bottom  had  its  root  in  an 
artistic  conscientiousness  very  rare  in  dramatic  literature, 
Grillparzer  knows  how  to  adapt  his  language  to  the  charac- 
ter represented.  Unlike  most  other  dramatic  personages. 
Grillparzer's  heroes  and  heroines  speak  as  befits  their  in- 
dividuality. 

As  if  to  demonstrate  his  final  emancipation  from  the 
influence  of  the  "fate  dramatists,"  Grillparzer  emphasizes 
in  his  "Ottokar"  the  power  of  the  individual  to  carve  out 
i  his  own  destiny.  Accident  has  no  place  in  his  drama.  "It 
is  not  an  accident,"  says  Ehrhard,  "such  as  a  sudden 
gust  of  wind,  that  uncovers  the  tent  in  which  Ottokar 
bends  his  knee  to  Eudolph ;  it  is  the  traitor  Zawisch  who, 
to  revenge  himself,  cuts  the  cord.  It  is  not  the  hazard  of 
war  that  defeats  Ottokar  at  Diirnkrut;  his  ruin  is  the 
work  of  Milota,  who  deserts  him.  Finally  it  is  not  the 
hand  of  a  stranger  that  inflicts  the  mortal  blow  upon  the 
vanquished  king;  he  perishes  by  the  stroke  of  Seyfried 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      125 

von  Merenberg,  the  young  knight  from  whom  he  had 
taken  first  his  bride  and  then  his  father." 

Throughout  the  play  there  runs  a  characteristic  note 
of  depreciation  of  Slavs  and  Hungarians.  Numerous 
passages  in  Grillparzer's  political  essays  and  reflections 
testify  to  a  certain  antipathy  toward  these  races  which 
even  his  own  protestations  to  the  contrary  cannot  wholly 
gainsay.  King  Bela  of  Hungary  is  placed  in  a  most  un- 
favorable light ;  there  is  not  a  redeeming  feature  in  Kuni- 
gunde ;  King  Ottokar  arraigns  the  indolence  of  the  Czechs 
in  the  most  scathing  terms,  while  Ottokar  von  Horneck, 
the  supposed  author  of  the  Chronicles,"  is  expressly  in- 
troduced into  the  play  to  extol,  in  a  famous  passage,  the 
beauty  of  the  Austrian  provinces  and  the  virtues  of  their 
inhabitants.  The  poet^s  innermost  sympathies  are  re- 
vealed in  this  contrast. 

His  personal  feelings  have  left  other  imprints  on  his 
work.  Just  as,  by  introducing  Katharina  Frohlich,  he  has 
immortalized  the  one  person  nearest  to  his  heart,  so  he  re- 
calls one  of  the  saddest  episodes  of  his  youth  in  his  allusion 
to  the  wonder-working  spring  near  Stip,  "a  solitude  to  die 
in,  not  to  live,"  where,  as  has  been  related,  Grillparzer 
nearly  died  from  the  cruel  neglect  of  the  noble  family  who 
employed  him  as  tutor. 

The  animated  scenes  with  which  the  play  opens  bring 
out  in  full  relief  Ottokar's  wrongdoing  toward  Margaret, 
as  revealed  in  the  contrasting  views  of  the  manly  Meren- 
bergs  and  the  scheming  Rosenbergs. 

(Seyfried  von  Merenberg,  'partisan  in  hand,  guards  the  en- 
trance to  the  royal  castle  at  Prague.  Elizabeth  and  another 
attendant  enter  from  the  queens  apartment.) 


126    GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Elizabeth. 

Haste,  Barbara!     Fetch  Master  Niklas,  haste! 
Though  well  the  queen  seems,  I  am  not  at  rest. 

(Enter  a  servant.) 

Hast  thou  the  healing  draught?    I'm  glad  'tis  here. 
O  direful  day!     O  miserable  queen! 

■jtf        -,  {Enter  old  Merenberg.) 

How  fares  the  queen? 
Elizabeth. 

Her  state  seems  marvellous  I 

But  clear  it  is  she  struggles  to  be  calm. 
Merenberg. 

Who  is  with  her? 
Elizabeth.  Tj^g  ^^^^^  ^^  Hapsburg,  sir, 

O  that  I've  lived  to  see  it  all! 
Merenberg.  ^^  ^^^j 

Seyfried  (who    has    stood,    lost    in    thought,    leaning    on    his 

partisan). 

You,  father? 
Merenberg. 

Have  you  heard  the  news  ? 
Seyfned.  I  j^^g_ 

Merenberg. 

You  say,  then — 
Seyfried.  ^^^^  ^  ^^^,^  ^^^.^^^  .^^ 

Merenberg.  What? 

Seyfried. 

No,  father!    And  the  talk  so  frenzies  me 

That  could  I  but  get  at  the  lying  brood, 

Here  with  this  halberd  smote  I  one  and  all. 
Merenberg   (drawing  bach). 

Alas!  my  son,  smite  not  your  father  then. 

For  I  believe  it,  too. 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      127 

Seyfried. 

You,  too? 

Mereriberg,  _  , 

I  know,  my  son. 

Seyfried. 

What  say  you?  Such  a  man,  a  knight,  a  king, 

Unmindful  of  his  solemn  pledge  and  troth. 

Forsake  the  woman  joined  to  him  for  aye? 

Have  I  not  served  him  from  my  boyhood  up. 

And  was  he  not  my  model  and  exemplar 

In  all  good  deeds? 
Merenherg. 

No  man  becomes  depraved  \ 

Who,  ere  he  fell,  was  not  accounted  good.  \ 

Seyfried. 

And  if  myself  fair  deed  I  wrought  and  thought. 

To  him  and  to  his  worth  I  traced  it  all. 

Oft  deeply  humbled  by  his  nobler  strength. 

One  single  grievance  lately  nursed  my  heart : 

I  durst  not  join  him  in  the  Magyar  fray — 

Mayhap  a  rest  of  ancient  love  survives 

For  Bertha  still,  the  maid  of  Eosenberg — 

0  could  I  but  extermine  from  his  life 
This  only  blot,  all  else  were  pure  and  fair ! 
Believe  me  if  he  sins,  the  deed  is  theirs, 
Fie,  Rosenberg!    A  father  sell  his  daughter! 

Merenherg. 

Think  as  you  will,  but  know  this  much  is  true. 
The  queen  must  leave,  she  and  her  retinue. 
The  worst  awaits  them,  yea,  the  very  worst. 

1  shall  to-day  seek  Merenberg,  my  home. 

My  ancestral  retreat.    You,  too,  must  hence. 
Seyfried. 

I,  father? 
Merenherg, 

You.    Your  childish  confidence 

Must  not  misguide  you  to  the  yawning  gulf. 


128     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA  \ 

Pretend  to  follow  me.    You'll  find  at  Bruck 

A  trusty  servant,  with  two  eager  steeds,  \ 

And  while  the  world  believes  you  safe  with  me,  ; 

You  haste  to  Germany  by  lonely  paths.  \ 

The  queen  declines  to  lay  her  hapless  fate  \ 

Before  the  realm;  God  helping,  then  shall  I.  j 

I  shall  not  see  the  daughter  of  my  lord  \ 

Outcast  from  land  and  home,  and  shelterless.  \ 

You  go  to  Frankfort.    Hand  this  letter  here  \ 

{He  opens  his  doublet,  in  which  the  letter  is  concealed.)  i 

To  the  Archbishop  of  Mainz —  But,  I  hear  steps,  \ 
We  are  observed. 

(He  turns  to  go.) 
Be  silent  and  make  haste! 

One  day  too  much  is  thirty  years  too  few.  ; 

i 

(Enter  Benesch  von  Dieditz  and  Milota.) 

Benesch. 

Was  not  Herr  Zawisch  here?  i 

Sey fried  (turning  away).  ] 

I  saw  him  not.  ] 

Benesch. 

Yet  on  his  horse  I  saw  him  here.  j 

Milota.  \ 

Peace,  brother!  ■ 

Benesch.  ^ 

Aye,  peace,  indeed!    And  let  the  king  but  dare  I  j 

Is  Eosenberg  my  name  not?    Is  our  house  | 

Most  powerful  no  more  of  all  the  nobles?  I 

And  he  shall  dare  such  insult?    Idle  talk!  '  j 

But  I  must  know  whose  brain  evolved  the  tale,  1 

My  hand  shall  strike  him,  thus,  and  thus,  and  thus,  I 

Unto  the  fourth  of  kin.  ^ 


(Enter  Bertha  von  Dieditz.) 


You,  foolish  child?  I 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      129 

What  seek  you  here?    Avaunt,  into  your  chamber  1 
Bertha. 

I  cannot  stay,  by  restless  fear  pursued. 

They  hurry  through  the  castle  and  they  whisper 

Of  horrid  happenings  with  averted  gaze. 

Pray,  tell  me,  is  it  true? 
Benesch. 

You  ask  your  father? 

Be  hence!  Awayl 

Bertha. 

O  Lord!    Is  there  no  soul — 
(Approaching  Seyfried,  hut  suddenly  drawing  hack.) 
You,  Merenberg,  whom  most  I  ought  to  shun. 
Above  all,  you,  and  yet,  you  have  a  heart! 
I  wronged  you  sorely,  Merenberg,  but  pray. 
Not  now  seek  vengeance.    Now  you  see  me  kneel — 

(She  kneels  hefore  him.) 
Can  it  be  true? 

Seyfried. 

What,  Bertha? 

Bertha. 

Is  it  true? 
Dissolved  the  wedlock  of  the  king,  dissolved? 
Seyfried. 

So  says  my  father. 
Bertha. 

And  thus  say  they  all. 
And  to  be  married ! — O  belated  shame. 
Too  late  thou  comest !    Who  speaks  now  of  shame?— 
Once  more  to  marry — 
Seyfried   (compassionately). 

Not  a  Rosenberg, 

Not  Bertha! 
(She  presses  her  face  to   the  floor,  with  an  exclamation  of 

anguish.) 
Benesch  (to  Seyfried). 


130     GRILLPAKZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Who  has  told  you?    Come  to  me  I 
Milota  (approaching  Bertha). 

Nieoe,  leave  this  room,  this  is  no  place  for  you  I 
Bertha. 

O  Seyfried,  help! 
Seyfried. 

Milota,  with  your  leave. 

If  you  but  dare  to  lay  your  hand  on  her. 

This  spear,  by  God,  I  thrust  into  your  heart. 

{Lowers  his  partisan.) 
Benesch. 

And  if  myself — 
Seyfried. 

No  matter  who  the  man. 
Benesch. 

Dare  you  withhold  the  daughter  from  the  father? 
Seyfried. 

O  had  you  but  withheld  her  in  the  past. 

She  should  not  be  as  now  she  stands  before  us, 

Her  groans  o'ermastering  our  very  hearts. 
Benesch. 

Perhaps  she  best  had  wedded  been  to  you  ? 
Seyfried. 

Far  better,  sir,  than  wed  to  shame  like  this. 
Benesch. 

My  child  I 
Seyfried. 

No  further!     She  is  mine  in  trust, 

Which,  bound  in  honor,  I  know  how  to  guard. 
Benesch.    Then  let  my  sword — 
Seyfried. 

Enough!  And  fear  nought  at  my  hands. 

(Zawisch  enters  and  hursts  into  a  fit  of  laughter.) 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha! 
Benesch  (who  turns  suddenly  at  his  approach). 
O  is  it  you?    Thank  God! 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      131 

Zawisch. 

Why  struggle  thus,  ye  huntsmen,  bold  and  furious. 
To  seize  the  bearskin  ere  the  bear  is  slain? 
Behold  friend  bruin  trudge  o'er  mount  and  vale. 
In  full  possession  of  his  paws  and  claws. 
Fair  cousin,  my  regards ! 

(To  Seyfried.) 
And  you,  my  huntsman, 
Smoothe  out  your  ruffled  feathers,  look  less  stern, 
I  am  not  proper  game  for  you. 
Benesch, 

Tell  us— 
Milota. 

Yes,  nephew,  speak  I 
Zawisch. 

Tell  you?     And  what? 

Benesch. 

The  king 

Zawisch. 

Has  taught  the  Magyars  a  useful  lesson 
At  Kroissenbrunn. 

{Turning  to  Milota.) 
You,  uncle,  shared  the  sport. 
Benesch. 

Why  talk  about  that? 
Zawisch. 

Peace  has  been  proclaimed. 

In  Austria — 
Benesch. 

Not  that! 

Zawisch. 

In  Styria— 

Benesch. 

Mock  you  my  words? 

Zawisch.  i    .     o 

Well,  what  is  your  desire  ( 


132     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Benesch. 

The  union  of  the  king —  I 

Zawisch»  '        1 

Ah,  that  has  been  dissolved. 
Benesch.  \ 

The  document  all  written  out?  J 

Zawisch. 

And  sealed. 

The  queen  for  Vienna  is  to  leave  to-day,  \ 

And  thence —  \ 

Benesch. 

With  whom — 


There  is  no  talk,  then  ? — Cursed  the  luck ! — 


(Turning   to  Bertha.) 
Be  still  at  last ! — With  whom  the  king — 
Zawisch. 

Ah!  whom  he  now  takes  for  his  second  spouse? 

Whom  else,  think  you,  than  yonder  maid,  your  child? 

O  you  have  shuffled  skilfully  your  cards! 

At  first  the  maid  by  accident  was  shown. 

In  splendor  decked,  such  as  is  rarely  seen; 

Then  her  own  lack  of  native  wit  supplied 

Your  nimble  tongue.    Ah,  how  her  wisdom  flowed  I 

The  queen  of  Sheba  scarce  could  better  her. 

At  last — ^but  how  can  I  know  all  your  tricks? 

In  short,  the  king  is  captured,  and  beware. 

Before  the  hour  is  o^er,  he  comes  to  woo. 
Bertha  (jumps  up). 

Away,  away,  to  clasp  her  feet,  and  die! 

(Bushes  into  the  queen's  chamber.) 

Zawisch, 

Ha,  ha,  ha  I 
Merenherg, 


Zawisch. 


Herr  Zawisch! 

O  a  merry  feast  I 


kSnIG  OTTOKARS  GLtiCK  UND  ENDE      133 

A  jolly  dance  ours  to  his  marriage  bells! 

{To  Seyfried.) 
And  you,  methinks,  have  wooed  her,  too,  before. 
By  God !    When  once  in  heightened  mood  with  wine, 
I  liked  myself  her  milk-and-apple  cheeks, 
your  hand  I  beg  in  token  of  alliance. 

{Seyfried  turns  away.) 

Milota. 

A  truce  to  folly!    Give  us  sober  speech! 

Who  is  to  be  the  king's  affianced  spouse? 
Zawisch. 

Curt  is  your  question,  curt  my  answer  be: 

'Tis  Kunigunde  of  Massovia, 

Niece  to  the  Magyar  king. 

Benesch. 

The  plague  upon  her! 

Zawisch. 

'Twas  your  desire  to  see  the  king  divorced, 

For  many  years  you  labored  to  this  end. 

Free  is  he  now— and  wooing  Bela's  niece. 
Benesch  (pressing  his  hand  to  his  hrow). 

Betrayed  and  foully  cheated!    Infamy! 
Zawisch. 

You  knock  in  vain  now  at  the  gate  of  thought. 

What  erst  was  closed  shall  never  open  now. 

Benesch. 

You  ridicule  what  you  yourself  approved! 

Zawisch.  „    .r^    ,  x  ^^n„f 

Approved?    What  nonsense!    I?    What  rampant  folly! 

Benesch. 

Yes,  you,  yea,  you! 

Milota. 

Because  you  claimed  to  know. 

Benesch.  ,       ,        x         t 

Bring  me  my  daughter,  bring  her  here  to  me! 
She  shall  not  live!    Not  she,  nor  J.    Oh,  oh! 


134     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

Seyfried.  ' 

Do  you  revile  her?    Fie  upon  yourself!  j 
Who  gave  you  warrant  that  it  was  your  child 

For  whom  the  king's,  her  own  king's,  hand  was  meant?  i 

Zawisch. 

Ah,  there  is  unsuspected  sense  indeed!  j 

A  Merenberg  were  mad  to  think  such  thought;  j 

But  we,  who  trace  our  birth  to  royal  Eome,  \ 

Heirs  to  patricians,  conquerors  of  the  globe. 

Once,  as  Ursini,  nearest  to  the  throne  I 

Where  Peter's  might  o'ertops  all  worldly  power —  I 

We  may  impunely  grasp  at  princely  crowns, 

A  Eosenberg  may  boldly  and  by  right 

In  marriage  join  the  highest  of  this  earth,  1 

And  even — ha,  ha,  ha !  ] 

Milota.  i 

,j 

Cursed  be  his  laughter!  1 

Zawisch.  | 

The  daughter  mad,  the  father  tears  his  hair,  | 

And  we  boast  of  our  old  nobility!  j 

And  were  it  older  than  the  angels'  fall. 

The  king  but  nods,  it  crashes  to  the  ground.  ■ 

Benesch.  i 

But  ere  I  fall,  revenge !  I 

(Seizing  Milota.)  'i 

Brother,  revenge!  j 

Milota.  I 

I've  gathered  thought,  and  am  resolved  to  act.  1 

Zawisch.  ] 

Do  you  bestir  yourself,  slow-moving  Milota?  J 

Then  let  the  trembling  king  beware  indeed !  | 

Benesch.  I 

If  you — if  you  forsake  our  common  cause,  j 

You  are  no  Eosenberg;  a  scoundrel,  you!  \ 

Milota.  \ 

Thus  is  it.  i 


KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   135 

Zawisch, 

Well!    How  then  are  we  to  act? 

Let's  see.    Perhaps  when  next  the  king  leaves  church 

You  jostle  him  and  step  upon  his  toe, 

That  sorely  hurts,  and  you  are  then  avenged. 
Benesch. 

He  mocks  us!    Lord!  He  is  no  Rosenberg! 

Milota. 

Come,  brother,  let  us  go!    He  who  can  jest 
When  sullied  is  the  honor  of  his  house 
Deserves — 

Zawisch. 

Stop,  friend!    Pray  +ell  me,  who  are  you. 
You  both,  who  rend  the  air  with  empty  cries  ? 
Deaf  walls  you  shout  to  and  to  open  ears, 
Conspire  in  highways,  thirst  indoors  for  blood! 
Herr  Merenberg,  are  they  not  valorous  men? 
With  fury  drunk,  they  are  like  other  drunkards. 
There  is  no  remedy  for  such  like  air. 
Away   into   the  open,  honored  sirs! 
Our  house  and  home  aflame,  shall  we  stand  by 
In  idleness,  and  not  at  least  get  warm? 
The  king  my  ruler  is — enough  for  me. 
Milota  (approaching  him).  VV*^b 

I  fain  believe  your  speech  squares  not  your  thought.  J 
Do  you  make  game  of  us? 
Zawisch  (loud). 

Of  worthy  men  like  you  I 

My  silent  thoughts  you  never  can  divine. 
And  if  you  could,  you  could  not  silent  be. 
The  queen's  apartment  opens,  there  she  comes, 
And  her  grand-almoner,  Rudolph,  Count  Hapsburg. 
Let  us  not  trespass  on  their  meditations. 

In  the  following  scene  Margaret  relates  to  Rudolph  of 
Hapsburg  the  story  of  her  woes,  of  how  the  Rosenbergs 


136     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

poisoned  the  king^s  mind,  and  nourished  his  passion  for 
Bertha,  in  the  hope  that  she  would  finally  occupy  the 
throne  of  Bohemia — she  who  is  now  the  insane  victim  of 
their  wiles.  As  for  herself,  she  entered  into  her  marriage 
with  Ottokar  without  love,  and  she  leaves  him  without  sor- 
row, because  without  a  stain  on  her  honor.  When 
Bohemia's  delegates  had  implored  her  to  marry  Ottokar 
as  the  only  means  of  putting  an  end  to  devastating  war  be- 
tween that  country  and  Austria,  such  was  her  reply: 

I  answered  "No"!  remembering  my  husband. 

Who  took  my  plighted  faith  into  his  tomb ; 

But  out  upon  the  balcony  they  led  me. 

And  pointed  to  the  land  by  war  laid  waste. 

To   meadows  charred,   to   empty  homes,   and   corpses. 

By  women,  children,  wounded,  bleeding,  groaning, 

I,  horror-stricken,  found  myself  surrounded, 

Implored  to  save  them,  I  who  had  the  power. 

Then  had  I  but  one  thought,  and  promised  all. 

And  there  they  brought  to  me  young  Ottokar, 

And  said  he  was  to  be  my  future  husband. 

Dark  looked  his  eye  on  me,  by  dark  brows  fringed. 

As  he  stood  shyly  distant,  lost  in  thought. 

Fixed  on  my  aging  form  his  youthful  gaze. 

But  thinking  only  of  my  country's  woes, 

I  went  to  him  and  spoke  in  friendly  tones. 

Thus  I  became  his  wife.    I  never  bore  him  love. 

Nor  thought  if  I  might  later  learn  to  love; 

But  gave  him  quiet  care,  and  tending  him. 

In  time  a  feeling  stole  into  my  heart 

That  knows  full  well  the  anguish  of  true  love. 

But  not  love's  happiness.     And  thus  we  lived. 

Judge  now  if  separation  frights  my  soul. 

Yes,  I  shall  go,  but  wedded  I  remain, 

Nought  have  I  done  to  break  the  marriage  tie. 


KONIG  OTTOKAKS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   137 

Martial  pomp  and  splendor  mark  the  entrance  of  King 
Ottokar  upon  the  scene.  He  receives  the  ambassadors  of 
the  Khan  of  Tartary,  who  have  come  to  offer  an  alliance, 
but  are  dismissed  with  contempt.  He  then  turns  to  the 
delegates  of  the  city  of  Prague,  whom  he  thus  addresses : 

Ottohar. 

Who  are  you? 
Burgomaster. 

Councillor  and  Burgomaster, 

Sir,  of  your  most  devoted  town  of  Prague. 
Ottohar. 

And  your  desire?    Ah! — Tell  your  tale,  ye  men! 

I  am  fatigued,  let  them  ungird  my  armor! 
{He  throws  himself  into  an  armchair;  two  servants  hasten  to 

obey  his  command.) 
Burgomaster. 

0  mighty  king!     All-powerful  conqueror! 
Your  victory's  fame  has  overspread  our  land 
And— 

OttoJcar. 

Fiillenstein ! 
Fiillenstein. 

My  lord,  at  your  command! 

OttoJcar. 

What  was  the  place  of  the  Hungarian's  rout? 
Fiillenstein. 

Near  Kroissenbrunn. 
Ottokar. 

Fool!    There  were  we  encamped. 

Think  you  that  I  forgot  whence  I  set  out? 

1  mean  where  last  my  horsemen  made  the  charge 
That  sealed  the  day. 

Fiillenstein. 

It  was  Marchegg,  my  lord. 

So  called  because  the  March  there  sharply  turns. 


138     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTKIAN  DRAMA 

OttoJcar. 

Marchegg,  thus  let  the  town  be  also  named 

Which  there  in  memory  of  the  day  shall  rise. 

Marchegg  be  mark  and  token  of  my  luck, 

Which  thence  shall  spread.    Who  is  to  stay  my  hand? 

The  distant  future  loudly  shall  proclaim 

The  glorious  day  and  my  victorious  name. 

(He  rises  and  turns  to  the  servants.) 
Why  do  you  stay?    Ah,  to  ungird  my  limb? 

(He  sits  down  again.) 
Herr  Burgomaster,  seize  my  hose  of  mail! 
Not  thus!     Avaunt!     Why  slowly  tug  away? 

(He  violently  pulls  off  the  greave  and  throws  it  into  the  middle 
of  the  room.) 

Just  where  the  river  March  begins  to  curve. 
Throned  high  King  Bela  on  the  further  hill. 
And  Heinrich  Preussel  near  him,  in  full  sight, 
Who  showed  him,  as  in  puppet-play  do  boys. 
The  battlefield  and  what  took  place  around; 
The  combatants  he  named  of  most  repute. 
A  pretty  pastime,  till  the  Hapsburg  came, 
His  cavaby  descending  with  fell  swoop. 
And  wildly  fled  who  could  in  Magyar  swear. 
Into  the  river,  where  their  flowing  beards 
Like  sedgy  grass  swayed  in  the  tide  below. 
Where  is  Count  Hapsburg?    By  the  gods  of  war. 
Well  stood  his  ground  he!    Most  demure  of  mien. 
But  in  attack  a  very  devil  he. 
Where  is  Count  Hapsburg? 

Servant. 

Shall  we  call  the  count? 

Ottohar. 

No!     When  the  Magyar  king  perceived  his  plight. 
No  need  he  had  of  an  interpreter. 
His  hair  he  wildly  clutched  with  both  his  hands. 
And  plucked.    Methought  an  idle  task, 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      139 


Which  we  set  out  far  better  to  perform.  j 

Still,  he  is  now  our  friend  and  our  ally,  j 

Of  whom  in  kindness  only  we  must  speak.  ; 

But  have  you  done  at  last?  I 

(He  rises.)  ] 

My  cloak  and  hat!  | 

And  what  be  new  with  you,  Herr  Burgomaster?  I 

You  stand  as  if  in  dream.    Ill  fits  my  hat.  , 

{To  the  servant.) 

The  devil  take  it!    Fetch  another  hat!  i 

The  castle  wall,  I  hear  you  say,  is  finished?  ; 

Burgomaster.  ^ 

Yes,  gracious  lord!  j 

Ottokar, 

The  Moldau  bridge,  then,  too?  ] 
Burgomaster, 

But  yesterday  the  final  stone  was  laid.  I 
OttoTcar. 

I  see,  you  knew  that  I  would  come  to-day.  ^ 

Was  cleared  the  suburb  for  the  German  troops  \ 

Sent  there,  the  Saxons  and  Bavarians?  ' 

Burgomaster.  \ 

I  humbly  beg — 
Ottokar. 

Has  it  been  done?  i 

Burgomaster,  i 

Your  highness —  : 

Ottokar.  i 

Yes  5^  \ 

Burgomaster.  ] 

Not  yet.  s 

Ottokar.  \ 

Why?    Not  yet?    God!  Why  not  yet?  \ 

Burgomaster.  i 

Once  more  we  crave  to  plead  with  you,  our  lord,  j 
Ere  we  dislodge  so  many  faithful  subjects— 


140     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA  ; 

OttoJcar. 

Dislodge!    Who  says  dislodge?    Was  this  my  wish?  l 

To  Chrudim  let  them  go,  where  triple  land  ] 
And  space  to  build  on  they  will  find  assigned. 
And  threefold  all  the  cost  of  their  removal; 

There  should  they  go,  and  must.    They  must,  I  say  I  I 

Well  know  I  your  desires,  ye  old  Bohemians!  j 

To  dwell  at  ease  'mid  heaps  of  ancient  rubbish,  ^ 

The  dark  inheritance  of  darker  times;  ] 

Content  to  eat  up  yesterday's  scant  earnings,  j 

And  sow  enough  just  for  to-morrow's  crop.  I 

On  Sunday  feasts,  at  Kirmess  clownish  dances,  I 
But  deaf  and  blind  to  all  the  world  beside — 

Such  is  your  happiness,  but  not  such  mine.  j 

For  as  one  grasps  the  drowning  by  the  hair,  I 

So  I  will  clutch  you  at  your  tender  spot:  j 

The  German  I  shall  drop  among  you  loUards,  I 

Who'll  pinch  your  drowsy  flesh  till  you  awake,  j 
And  scream  with  pain,  and  kick  as  does  the  horse 

When  spurred  to  action.     You  still  dream  of  days  | 

When  sat  around  the  hearth  your  gentle  princes,  i 

Whose  'scutcheon  bore  a  kettle,  emblem  fit !  J 

Not  such  am  I,  by  God,  not  I !  1 

(The  servants  throw  the  cloalc  around  him,)  I 

Look  here !  ' 

In  Augsburg  purchased  was  this  cloak  of  mine,  \ 

Embroidered  rich  in  velvet  and  in  gold.  I 

Can  you,  in  your  Bohemia,  fashion  this?  n 

You  shall,  by  God,  you  shall,  and  I  will  teach  you !  j 

With  Vienna,  London,  Paris,  and  Cologne,  '\ 

Your  Prague  shall  rank,  a  proud  and  equal  town!  ] 

The  countries  all,  which  erstwhile  scorned  your  land,  \ 

My  sword  has  humbled.     The  proud  Magyar  flees,  I 

Bavaria's  prince  has  learned  to  hold  his  peace,  I 

And  Austria,  brave   Styria,  Portenau,  i 

Carniola,  too,  and  old  imperial  Eger,  J 

J 
% 
1 


KOXIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   141  I 

} 

I  have  united  all  unto  my  realm.  i 

Bohemia's  name  to  distant  bounds  I've  carried,  I 

From  distant  lands  returns  Bohemia's  fame.  * 

I,  too,  might  sleep  in  peace,  as  slept  my  forbears,  ^ 

Might  let  you  sleep,  as  once  your  fathers  slept.  i 

For  whom  performed  I  what  I  did?     For  you!  ^ 

But  you  must  follow,  on  my  word,  you  shall!  ] 

I  placed  you  on  a  height  where  looms  the  world,  '\ 

Climb  on,  or  fall,  and  break  your  necks  to  boot !  1 

{Turning  away.)  ' 
Prepare  the  suburb  for  the  Grerman  troops! 

{Enter  the   chancellor,  who  approaches  the  Icing.)  I 

i 

OttoJcar.  \ 

What  is't?  I 

Chancellor.  ^ 

The   queen,   as  you  commanded,  sir, —  | 

OttoTcar    {again  addressing   the   citizens  of  Prague).  j 

This,  too,  you  see,  for  your  sake  I  have  done.  i 

What  dearest  is  to  every  man,  his  home,  \ 

His  peace,  I  have  disturbed  for  yours,  J 

And  for  your  children's  peace;  that  when  I  die  ] 

My  kingdom  may  not  lack  a  rightful  heir,  j 

Nor  civil  strife  undo  what  I  have  done.  \ 
Therefore  have  I  divorced  Queen  Margaret, 

Who  nourishes  no  hope  of  child  and  heir,                                  ^  ^ 

And  other  ties  have  I  resolved  upon.                                          *  \ 

{Turning  to  the  entire  assemUage.)  ^ 

Yes,  yes,  ye  lords,  may  ye  then  know  it,  all.  | 

To  firmly  seal  the  now  accomplished  peace  | 

King  Bela  Kunigunde  offers  me,  I 

His  grandchild  and  Massovia's  only  daughter.  ] 

Therefore,  since  long  have  raised  the  bishops  of  the  reahn  i 
Their  voice  in  protest  'gainst  Queen  Margaret— 
And  there  are  reasons  why  she  has  displeasedr- 


142     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

For,  first,  she's  aged,  and  there  is  no  issue, 
Nor  is  there  prospect  of  a  future  heir; 
And,  then,  she  is  my  kin — near  kin  or  not. 
No  matter  which,  nor  care  I,  finally — 
But  why  enumerate  cause  one,  two,  three? 
For  firstly,  second,  third,  it  is  my  will! 
The  queen  will  come  and  give  her  signature, 
Affirm  anew  the  dower  of  her  lands. 
And  you  as  witnesses  are  here  assembled. 

{He  takes  his  seat  on  the  throne.) 

The  scenes  which  follow  are  crowded  with  stirring  inci- 
dent and  rapid  characterization — the  whole  a  masterpiece 
of  dramatic  exposition.  Queen  Margaret,  accompanied 
by  her  champions,  the  knights  of  Hapsburg  and  Meren- 
berg,  is  put  by  the  chancellor  through  the  formality  of  a 
trial,  whose  result  is  a  foregone  conclusion.  Ottokar  wel- 
comes the  appearance  of  the  estates  of  Austria,  Styria, 
and  Carinthia,  who  come  to  do  him  homage.  Margaret, 
while  bowing  to  the  decree  of  separation,  warns  Ottokar 
not  to  put  his  trust  in  the  loyalty  of  provinces  attached  to 
him  only  through  his  marriage  compact  with  her.  King 
Bela  and  Kunigunde  come  to  heighten  his  triumph.  The 
delegates  of  the  Diet  of  the  Holy  Koman  Empire  ask  Otto- 
kar whether  he  would  accept  the  crown  in  case  it  were 
offered  to  him.  By  mistake  one  of  the  delegates  raises  aloft 
the  banner  of  the  Count  of  Hapsburg  instead  of  that  of 
Bohemia.  Budolph  claims  his  ovni,  but  is  imperiously  or- 
dered by  Ottokar  to  keep  silent.  King  Bela  introduces 
Kunigunde,  who  is  disguised  as  a  warrior,  as  one  of  his 
grandsons,  anxious  to  serve  under  Ottokar.  She  throws 
aside  her  cloak  and  stands  revealed  a  beautiful  woman. 
Zawisch,  near  her,  exclaims:  "Thou  beautiful  warrior!" 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      143 

and  is  rebuked  by  Kunigunde.  Queen  Margaret  returns 
with  the  documents  asked  for  by  the  king,  but  he  refuses 
to  see  her.  Merenberg  offers  to  lead  her  away,  but  is  com- 
manded by  the  king  to  keep  his  place.  Kudolph  of  Haps- 
burg  then  offers  her  his  arm.  His  chivalry  attracts 
the  attention  of  the  delegates  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire, 
among  them  the  chancellor  of  the  archbishop  of  Mainz, 
who  recognizes  in  him  the  chivalrous  knight  who  once  gave 
a  priest,  bent  on  an  errand  of  mercy,  his  own  horse  with 
which  to  cross  a  swollen  stream.  The  archbishop  was 
himself  that  priest,  and  he  now  asks,  in  the  name  of  the 
empire,  safe  conduct  for  the  queen.  He  and  Eudolph  lead 
her  away.  Ottokar  threatens  the  departing  delegate  with 
his  wrath.  The  spokesman  of  the  delegates  presses  for  a 
definite  answer  to  the  question  whether  he  would  accept  the 
crown  if  offered. 

Zawisch  (stepping  forward). 

Will  you  deprive  us  of  our  king  and  master? 

Is  he  not  powerful?     He  needs  you  not, 

A  very  god  he  rules  upon  this  earth. 

The  empire  breeds  but  care  and  little  profit. 

Leave  him,  and  give  your  precious  gifts  to  Germans! 

Your  offer  shows  your  need.    Leave  us  our  master! 
Ottokar. 

In  part  he  speaks  the  truth,  sir  delegate. 

Much  need  of  change  is  patent,  in  the  empire, 

Great  need  to  break  and  punish  sullen  pride; 

Well  see  I  that  your  master  was  your  servant. 

King  am  I  of  Bohemia  and  rich; 

God  keep  me  from  a  beggared  emperor's  fate! 

Yet,  wait  and  see  if  later  I  be  pleased 

To   answer  your  petition  favorably. 

{Turning  to  Kunigunde) 


144     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

Now  am  I  yours,  with  soul  and  body  yours. 
Zawisch, 

Long  life  to  Ottokar! 

(Sound  of  trumpets.    General  acclaim.) 
King  of  Bohemia! 
Of  Austria  Duke! 

Of  Styria,  and  Carinthia! 
Of  Carniola! 

Holy  Roman  Emperor!     Ottokar! 

At  the  opening  of  the  second  act  Zawisch  ridicules  alike 
Ottokar' s  pretensions  to  the  emperor's  crown  and  Kuni- 
gunde's  pride.  Milota  von  Rosenberg  has  captured  Sey- 
fried  von  Merenberg,  who  has  in  his  possession  the  con- 
fidential letter  sent  by  his  father  to  the  archbishop  of 
Mainz.  Seyfried  had  paid  a  farewell  visit  to  Bertha,  who 
is  reported  to  be  raving.  Zawisch  frees  Seyfried  from  the 
hands  of  Milota.  At  the  approach  of  the  queen  he  puts  a 
letter  under  the  half -raised  foot  of  a  statue  of  Yenus,  plac- 
ing it  so  that  the  queen  must  see  it. 

Kunigunde. 

Who  hurried  hence?     'Twas  Rosenberg,  the  shameless! 

Let  him  come  back! 
Maid  (calling  after  him). 

Herr  Zawisch!     Back,  come  back! 

The  queen  commands  that  you  return  at  once. 

(Zawisch  reappears,  affectedly  twirling  his  hat  in  his  hand.) 
Queen. 

I  know  not,  sir,  if  I  may  trust  my  senses ; 

Have  fever  dreams  held  captive  me  of  late. 

Or  are  you  really  so  lost  to  shame, 

So  'reft  of  reason — ^vainly  seek  I  words, 

A  madman's  freak  perhaps  had  best  I  call  it — 

So  madly  impudent,  as  seems  your  conduct? 

When  I  arrived,  a  cry  you  uttered  loud — 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      145 

0  it  was  you!     Near  was  I,  and  I  heard  it! 
Since  then,  where'er  I  turn,  your  glances  follow, 
Such  glances  as  defy  description, 

And  fill  me  with  disgust  in  thought  of  them. 

(Approaching  Zawisch.) 
When  at  the  recent  dance  my  hand  I  gave  you. 
You,  in  your  impudence,  you  dared  to  press  it! 
Sir,  do  you  know  my  place  and  yours? 

Zawisch. 

Forgive  I 

Queen. 

Are  queens  thus  treated  in  this  land  of  yours? 

Disdained  I  not  in  my  own  cause  to  rouse 

My  husband's  ire,  and  were  Bohemian  ways 

Like  those  which  are  the  custom  of  my  home — 

Where  claims  the  wife  the  right,  the  voice,  and  power. 

To  carry  into  action  what  she  wills. 

Where  queen  not  only  the  king's  consort  is. 

But  mistress  of  the  land — sir,  you  should  rue. 

Zawisch. 

Forgive  I 

Queen. 

Forgive?    What?     First  so  impudent, 
And  now  so  servile,  that  I,  loathing,  shrink? 
What  did  you  fasten  to  yon  column  there? 

Zawisch. 

To  yonder  column? — Is  there  aught  attached? — 

Queen. 

A  billet. 

Zawisch. 

There  a  billet?    Yes,  in  truth,  there  is. 

Queen  {to  her  maid  of  honor). 

Take  down  the  thing.    What  is  there  written  in  it? 

Zawisch. 

1  know  not. 


146     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Queen. 

And  yet  you  affixed  it  there. 
Zatvisch. 

I?    Truly  not! 
Queen. 

You  did,  as  I  approached. 
Zawisch. 

I  was  not  here.    The  other  way  I  came. 
Queen. 

As  Heaven  help  me,  have  I  lost  my  head? 

Has  sudden  madness  seized  my  senses  all? 

Are  trees  these  which  I  see?     Do  I  breathe  air? 

I  saw  it  plainly,  not  three  steps  away, 

You  stuck  the  billet  to  yon  column  there! 
Zawisch. 

If  so  you  saw  it,  O  my  gracious  lady, 

Then  what  you  saw  is  true,  though  ne'er  it  happened. 
Queen. 

And  what  contains  the  billet? 
Zawisch.  Idle  fancies. 

Born  of  a  poet's  glowing  heart  and  brain. 
Queen  (to  the  maid  of  honor). 

Show  it! 

(She  unfolds  the  paper  and  reads  the  superscription.) 

"To  the  most  beauteous" — O  the  insolent! 

Take  of  thy  daring  folly  here  the  proof! 

(8he  throws  the  billet  at  his  feet,) 

And  if  a  second  time  thou  dar'st  approach  me, 

Then  let  the  king  mete  out  thy  punishment! 
Zawisch   (pichs  up  the  billet  and  kneels  before  the  maid  of 

honor). 

Know  then  that  I  have  followed  you,  your  slave; 

Long  has  a  secret  fire  devoured  my  heart. 

Here  in  these  lines  I  dared  confess  my  love, 

Lost  am  I,  lady,  if  your  ire  I  roused. 

(He  rises  and  leaves.) 


KOKIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCIC  UNB  ENpE      147 

Ha,  ha,  the  silly  madcap  makes  me  laugh! 
Maid. 

You  see,  my  gracious  lady,  how  at  one,  two,  three, 

A  knight  IVe  won  who  swears  true  love  to  me. 
Queen. 

And  do  you  truly  think,  'twas  you  he  meant? 

He  dares  to  follow  me,  the  hare-brained  fool ! 
Maid. 

What  harm,  my  gracious  lady,  if  I  cherish 

The  pleasing  fancy,  it  was  I  he  wooed? 
Queen. 

What,  such  a  knight?     I  smile  at  your  conceit! 
Maid. 

A  noble  knight  in  truth!     Throughout  our  land 

There's  none  with  Zawisch  Rosenberg  compares. 

You  saw  his  noble  bearing  and  his  gait, 

The  many  graces  of  his  manly  frame. 

As  well  as  I  you  saw  it  all,  my  queen. 

And  as  for  martial  courage,  he  transcends 

All  knights  whom  on  the  battlefield  he  met. 

In  Padua  he  studied  many  years. 

And  verses  writes  he,  and  he  plays  the  lute. 
Queen. 

More  is  the  pity ! 
Maid.  Pity,  gracious  lady? 

Queen. 

Because  musicians  in  my  land  are  paid 

Their  pittance,  and  contemptuously  dismissed. 
Maid. 

It  is  not  so  with  us.     Our  noble  knights 

Do  not  disdain  to  vie  with  troubadours. 

And  more  than  one  heart  has  Sir  Zawisch  won 

With  song  and  sweet  sound,  as  he  played  the  lute. 

{She  opens  the  billet.) 

But  you  shall  see  yourself. 


148     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

Queen  {sitting  down). 

O  he  shall  pay  for  this! 
Maid  {reads). 

"O  snowlike  hand — " 

Queen. 

A  snowlike  hand?    What  means? — 
Maid.  White  as  the  snow  is. 

Queen  (takes  ojf  her  glove  and  looks  at  her  hand). 
He  saw  my  hand?    At  most  my  glove,  methinks. 
Maid  (reading). 

"O  snowlike  hand 
In   fiery  mould — " 
Queen  (impatiently  stamping  the  floor). 
Maid. 

Your  favor,  gracious  queen? 
Queen.  Eead  on! — ^that  is — 

That  is  to  say,  continue,  if  you  choose. 
Maid. 

"O  snowlike  hand 
In  fiery  mould, 
O  glowing  gaze. 
Yet  icy  cold!" 
Queen. 

Would  it  were  glowing  that  it  might  consume! 
I'd  torture  him  till  vengeance  had  its  fill. 
Maid. 

"O  snowlike  hand 
In  fiery  mould, 
O  glowing  gaze, 
Yet  icy  cold!" 


Queen. 

Be  silent! 

Maid. 

"0  melt,  thou  gaze. 

0  heart,  relent 

0  hand-" 

KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE       149 


Queen. 

Silence  I  tell  thee,  not  another  word! 
The  silly  child  would  fain  believe  it  hers! 


(She  rises,) 


Oh,  would  I  were  away,  away  from  here, 

In  Hungary,  my  home  and  that  of  mine. 

Where  I  might  live  my  life,  and  roam  at  will! 

There  let  me  be,  by  deep  desire  recalled. 

My  aged  parent  there  obeyed  my  wish. 

The  princes  bowed,  and  all  their  retinue, 

Whate'er  was  man  in  that  unbounded  realm. 

And  in  his  veins  had  passion,  courage,  fire. 

But  no!  they  called  me  to  their  distant  Prague; 

A  king,  they  said,  ruled  o'er  them  and  their  land. 

In  manly  strength  chained  to  an  older  spouse. 

Who  thirsted  for  a  consort  fiery  like  himself. 

For  equal  courage  in  a  heaving  breast. 

I  come,  and  find  a  gray-beard,  yes  a  dotard. 

For  are  not  mixed  with  gray  his  beard  and  hair? 

They  say  his  wars  have  dyed  them.    What  of  that? 

Is  he  not  moody  like  an  aged  man. 

Insistent  on  his  right  and  quarrelsome?    By  God, 

Not  to  be  silent  and  obey  I  came. 

Let  others  flatter,  beg  and  lick  the  dust. 

Their  blood  is  sluggish,  and  their  hearts  are  cold. 

This  Eosenberg  alone,  were  he  in  Hungary, 

Would  proudly  under  God's  free  heaven  stand. 

Like  him,  the  daring  leader  of  our  race. 

Whom  he  resembles  in  his  mien  and  frame, 

The  best  of  Hungary's  heroic  men; 

Yet  unlike  him  who  fearless  rushed  to  deeds. 

In  his  endeavor  straight  and  straight  in  all  he  did. 

With  stealthy  step  the  coward  Czech  proceeds. 

And  lowly  trails  his  manhood  in  the  dust. 

(Sound  of  trumpets.) 

What  sounds  are  these? 


150     GKILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

Maid.  The  tournament  is  over. 

And  honored  shall  be  the  victorious  knight. 
You,  gracious  queen,  are  to  bestow  the  guerdon. 

Zawisch  von  Rosenberg  returns  in  triumph  from  the 
tournament,  and  stands  before  the  king. 

Ottohar. 

You?    Ah,  you  triumphed  in  the  tournament, 

A  valiant  knight,  as  ever  you  have  been. 

Go  to  the  queen,  receive  the  prize  bestowed! 

You,  FiiUenstein!  (Turning  to  Fiillenstein.) 

Fiillensfein, 

My  lord,  at  your  command. 
OttoJcar. 

Select  a  faithful  band,  to  guard  each  gate. 

When  homeward  from  the  feast  our  guests  depart. 

Arrest  the  persons  I  shall  designate, 

And  hold  as  hostage  each,  in  prison  close. 

I  trust  not  yonder  man! — Nor  Lichtenstein, 

Nor  smooth-faced  TJlrich — 
Fiillenstein. 

Heinrich  surely  not. 
Ottohar. 

Why  speak'st  thou  loud?     Come  here,  and  listen  silent! 
(He  retires  with  Fiillenstein  into  the  background  and  speaks 

to  him  in  a  loiv  voice.     Whenever  Fiillenstein  replies,  the 

king  turns  his  gaze  toward  the  other  side,  where  Zawisch 

and  the  queen  converse.    Zawisch  stands  before  the  queen, 

who  sits  lost  in  thought.) 
Maid  (calling  the  queens  attention  to  the  presence  of  Zawisch). 

My  gracious  lady! 
Queen  (noticing  Zawisch). 

Dare  you  follow  here? 
Maid  (pointing  to  the  embroidered  sash  which  a  page  carries 

on  a  velvet  cushion). 

His  guerdon! 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   151 

(The  queen  takes  the  sash,  and  the  page  deposits  the  cushion 

at  her  feet.) 
Zawisch  {to  the  maid  of  honor). 

Damsel,  hand  me  back  the  billet 
Which  in  your  hand  I  placed  a  while  ago ! 
It  was  intended  for  another  hand. 
Maid. 

Sir  Knight!— 
Zawisch. 

Hand  back  the  billet! 

{Stretches  out  his  hand.) 
Maid. 

Pardon  me! 
Zawisch  (still  with  outstretched  hand). 
It  is  for  some  one  else! 

^«*^-  I  have  it  not. 

Zawisch. 

You  have  it  not?    It  is  no  longer  yours? 

Then  truly  has  it  reached  the  rightful  owner! 
{He  throws  himself  on  the  cushion  before  the  queen  and  speaks 

effusively.) 

0  thanks,  my  queen!  a  thousand,  thousand  thanks — 

{In  more  measured  tones.) 
Thanks  in  advance  for  what  I  shall  receive. 

Ottokar  {interrupting  his  conversation  with  Filllenstein), 
Why  do  you  not  confer  the  guerdon,  wife? 

Kunigunde  (offended). 

1  was  about  to  do  so  ere  you  spoke. 

{Approaching  Zawisch  with  the  sash,) 

Sir  Knight! 
Zawisch. 

O  blessed  hour,  my  gracious  queen! 
I  humbly  bow,  devoted  to  your  service. 

{In  a  low  tone.) 
^^O  snowlike  hand, 
..  In  fiery  mould." 


152     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Queen  (in  a  loiv  tone). 
Be  silent! 

Zawisch  (loud). 

With  this  precious  guerdon  armed 
In  place  of  armor,  of  all  weapons  bare, 
A  wanderer  shall  traverse  I  the  world. 
And  herald,  queen,  your  fame,  and  his,  my  king's. 
Prepared  to  fight  for  you  and  him,  and  die! 

(In  a  low  voice  and  rapidly,  while  the  queen,  sash  in  hand, 
hends  over  him.) 

Let  aged  men  take  aged  wives!     To  youth 
Shall  youth  be  mated! 

(The  queen  throws  the  sash  to  the  ground.) 

Ottokar  (calls). 

Have  you  finished,  there? 

Zawisch  (in  a  low  voice). 

His  head  shall  fall  if  so  be  your  command! 

Ottokar. 

What  say  you? 

Zawisch. 

That  the  sash  fell  to  the  ground. 

Queen  (to  the  maid). 

Hand  me  the  sash!     If  patience  slowly  wins. 

Rash  insolence  may  likewise  reach  its  goal. 

Here,  take  the  sash,  and  fare  you  well.  Sir  Knight! 

(She  places  the  sash  around  his  necTc.  As  she  hends  over  him, 
Zawisch  seizes  a  rihhon  tied  to  her  sleeve.  The  how  is  un- 
done, and  the  rihhon  falls  to  the  ground.  Zawisch  hends 
quickly  and  picks  it  up.) 

Queen. 

The  king,  O  Heavens! 

(Ottokar  turns  to  her.) 

Zawisch  (who  has  risen  and  retired  to  the  hackground). 

The  queen,  my  gracious  lord! 

Ottokar. 

What  is  it,  Kunigunde?    Your  desire? 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UISTD  ENDE      153 

(A  pause,  during  which  the  queen  fixes  her  eyes  on  Zawisch,  who 

quietly  remains  standing,  looking  straight  before  him.    She 

glances  once  more  at  him,  then  addresses  the  king.) 
Queen. 

Shall  you  to-day  proceed  to  hunt  at  Ribnik? 
Ottokar. 

Why  ask  this  question?     Yes,  I  shall,  to-day. 

But  you  are  troubled.     What  has  taken  place? 

If  to  bestow  the  prize  has  taxed  you  so. 

In  future  I  shall  save  you  needless  pain. 

(He  turns  away.) 
Queen  (in  a  low  voice  to  her  maid  of  honor). 

He  must  return  the  bow.     Tell  him,  he  must! 

(Ottokar  has  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the  hall;  those  as- 
semhled  form  a  semicircle,  at  one  end  of  which,  on  the 
left,  is  the  queen,  Zawisch  being  on  the  right.) 

Ottokar. 

Sore,  gentlemen,  am  I  perplexed  by  care. 

Which  one  of  you  I  trust  will  lift  from  me. 

Old  Merenberg,  he,  Styria's  faithless  son. 

To  me  and  to  his  land  has  turned  a  traitor. 

With  letters  for  the  archbishop  of  Mainz^ 

In  haste  he  has  dispatched  his  son  to  Frankfort — 

Where  the  electors  meet,  to  choose  the  emperor — 

My  own  election,  mayhap,  to  prevent. 

To  spread  disorder,  kindle  mutiny. 

The  son,  unfortunately,  has  escaped. 

But  condign  punishment  awaits  the  father. 

And  full  disclosure  his  confederates. 

The  miscreant  is  in  his  home  intrenched. 

His  castle  safely  guarded  from  attack. 

Whoe'er  shall  bring  him  here,  bring  him  alive. 

All  his  estates,  by  treason  forfeited. 

Shall   him  reward  who  seizes  Merenberg. 

Ortolf  von  Windischgratz,  will  you  attempt? 


154    GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  BEAM  A 

FuUenstein. 

And  let  me  be  the  second,  gracious  lord! 
Ottohar. 

Among  my  men  the  best  you  may  select, 

This  one — and  that — 

(Pointing  out  several  soldiers  in  the  rear.) 
Maid  (approaching  Zawisch). 

The  queen  is  sore  displeased. 

Eeturn  to  her  the  bow,  is  her  command. 
Zawisch. 

Return  the  bow?    Not  for  the  world,  my  child! 

In  conquest  won,  it  fairly  is  my  own. 

Ask  for  my  life,  but  not,  not  for  the  bow! 

(He  taJces  it  out.) 

See  but  its  beauty!     Fair  as  thy  sweet  mouth. 

And  white  as  shines  the  silver  of  thy  neck. 

(He  touches  her  shoulder  with  his  finger.) 

No,  this  I  keep,  and  next  to  shield  and  helmet. 

The  bow  shall  rest  in  splendor  on  my  bier. 

Did  I  not  risk  my  blood  to  gain  this  prize? 

Thou  blood-red  bow,  mine  art  thou  evermore! 

(He  holds  it  aloft.) 
Queen  (on  the  other  side  of  the  stage). 

He  raves,  the  madman!     Heaven,  if  the  king — 
Maid  (to  Zawisch). 

The  queen  doth  motion,  quickly  hide  the  bow! 

The  king  is  near. 
Ottohar. 

What  is  it,  Eosenberg? 
Zawisch  (who  has  put  the  how  into  his  hosom). 

O  nothing,  gracious  lord! 
OttoTcar. 

What,  nothing  say  you? 
Zawisch. 

There  are  some  things,  my  gracious  lord  and  master. 

To  be  concealed  by  right  e'en  from  the  king. 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      155  \ 

Ottohar.  \ 

A  pledge  of  love?  i 

Zawisch.  ^ 

A  pledge  one  loves,  my  lord.  \ 

Ottohar  {after  a  pause).  \ 

Who  dressed  the  queen  this  morning?  ] 

Maid.  I 

I,  my  lord.  I 

Ottohar.  \ 

Art  thou  so  careless,  wench,  that  but  one  arm  \ 

Thou  dost  with  silken  bow  adorn,  the  while  \ 

The  other  bare?  ^ 

Maid.  ] 
The  bow   is   surely — lost 

Zawisch  (stoops  as  though  loohing  for  it).  j 

It  shall  be  found  then.  | 

Ottohar.  \ 

Never  mind,  Herr  Zawisch  1  I 

When  void  the  hall,  the  looking  will  be  easier.  { 

But  by  this  evening  I  shall  hope  to  see  it.  I 
And  him  who  finds  it  you  may  give  this  ring, 

{He  tahes  a  ring  from  his  finger  and  hands  it  to  Zawisch.)  j 

In  my  wife's  name,  intended  for  his  wife;  j 

For  queens  may  diamonds  bestow  at  will,  \ 

But  ribbons  not,  to  deck  the  bosom  with.  | 

And,  queen,  you  will  in  future  heed  your  dress,  I 

And  likewise  heed  your  dignity  with  care.  1 

iTo  Zawisch.)  \ 

Mind  what  I  say,  and  tell  it  to  the  finder !  ] 

Queen.  j 

In  my  name,  sir,  and  tell  him  furthermore:  J 

Let  him  retain  whatever  he  may  find;  ^ 

What  I  bestow,  if  diamond  or  bow,  l 

Its  nature  loses  as  it  leaves  my  touch,  : 

And  is  a  gift  but  of  the  sovereign  queen.  I 
And  also  let  him  know  that  I  am  mistress, 


156     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

And  free  to  give  more  precious  tokens  still  ^ 
Than  bow  or  diamond,  as  I  may  choose. 

(She  leaves.)  ] 

OttoJcar  (paces  up  and  down,  then  stops,  addressing  Zawisch).  j 
What  has  occurred  here,   speak  thou,  Eosenberg? 

Zawisch  (tending  his  knee),  ; 

Have  I  unhappily  displeased  my  lord?  \ 

OttoJcar. 

Thou  dar'st  in  silly  mood  to  rouse  my  ire,  j 

The  ire  of  Ottokar,  and  this  because  i 

Thy  idle  fancy  prompts  an  idle  whim?  ; 

Who  art  thou,  foolishly  to  dare  such  deed?  ] 

A  nod  from  me — and  Eosenberg  has  been.  i 

But  well  I  know  thy  cautious  mind — Arise!  \ 

Zawisch.  ; 

Not  if  in  anger  you  command.  ; 

Ottohar.                                                 Arise!  \ 

(Zawisch  gets  up.) 

OttoJcar  (to  a  servant). 

Go  with  this  message  to  my  wife:  No  longer 

Shall  her  abstention  mar  this  festive  day,  ^ 

Let  her  return,  our  gayety  to  restore.  ] 

And,   Ortolf,  you,  begin  the  promised  work  1 

Which,  when  accomplished,  rich  reward  shall  bring.  ; 

Let  them  invoke  the  powers  of  the  realm! 

The  realm  am  I!  t 

Servant  (returning).  ] 

The   queen    is    indisposed.  ] 

OttoJcar.  \ 

Oh,  illness  such  as  hers  I  cure  with  ease!  I 

Ask  her  once  more  to  come,  'tis  my  desire.  5 

And  now,  ye  lords,  rejoin  the  festive  throng,  I 

Let  dance  and  joy  resume  their  wonted  reign  ] 

Till  dawns  the  day,  J 

(To  Fullenstein.)  i 

Eemember  my  command!  "' 


KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      157  ; 

Fullenstein,  | 

It  shaU  be  heeded.                                      {Servant  returns.)  ^ 

OttoJcar.  I 

Comes  the  queen  at  last? 

Servant.  } 

Her  Majesty  refuses  to  appear.  \ 

Ottohar,  \ 

She  comes  not,  does  refuse,  when  I  command?  3 

Tell  her !—     But  no,  her  better  sense  will  tell  her.  \ 

A  woman's  whim  has  claim  on  our  indulgence,  ■ 

And  now  be  gone,  my  lord!  ] 

First  Deputy  of  the  Empire.  t 

My  gracious  king!  j 

OttoJcar.  i 

What,  you  still  linger  here,  Sir  Deputy?  j 

Deputy.  1 

I  still  await  your  Majesty's  reply  ^ 

To  those  who  sent  me  here,  the  realm's  electors,  \ 

The  Holy  Koman  Empire's.  ■, 
OttoJcar. 

Sir  Ambassador,  i 

It  is  not  easy  off-hand  to  reply.  I 
I  am  a  king  who  rules  o'er  many  lands. 

Too  many,  almost,  for  my  single  strength,  ; 

And  now  I  am  to  shoulder  greater  care,  ) 

Care  for  a  land  which  wants  to  share  my  troubles  \ 

And  in  my  council  sit  as  well.    I'm  used,  '\ 

When  I  command,  to  be  obeyed  forthwith;  J 

'Twere  death  for  any  one  to  answer,  no !  j 

What  can  your  princes  offer  me,  pray,  tell?  | 

Pledged  are  the  customs  and  the  revenues;  J 
Whate'er  the  emperor  formerly  called  his. 

With  greedy  hands  this  prince  and  that  have  seized  ; 
As  spoils,  the  while  the  interregnum  drags. 
Why  should  I  risk  the  substance  of  my  crown. 

My  own  lands'  wealth  for  such  deceptive  gain?  j 

I 


158     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

You,  gentlemen,  would  fain  accept  my  purse, 

To  help  supply  your  dire  necessities.  j 

But  I  would  rather  sit  here  in  Bohemia,  ^ 

And  laugh  at  the  poor  German  emperor's  stress,  1 

Than  be  that  German  emperor  myself.  ■ 

Yet  scorn  I  not  to  crown  the  greatest  might,  j 
If  such  fate  wills,  with  greater  dignity, 

To  occupy  the  throne  of  Charlemagne,  ■ 

A  second  Charles  to  sit,  the  empire's  lord.  ] 

But  they  must  first  themselves  bring  here  the  crown,  J 
On  yonder  cushion  place  it  there  for  me. 

Before  I  shall  decide  what  is  to  be.  i 

I  have  despatched  my  chancellor  to  Frankfort ;  j 
Herr  Braun  of  Olmiitz,  he  attends  the  diet. 

And  writes                                              {producing  the  letter)  \ 

that  the  electors  soon  will  choose.  \ 

A  compromise,  he  says,  has  been  effected  '\ 
By  which  the  Elector  Palatine  proclaims  the  vote. 

True,  he's  no  friend  of  mine,  nor  he  of  Mainz.  J 

They  are  intriguing,  writes  my  chancellor.  1 

Yet  dares  no  German  prince,  among  them  all,  ; 

Provoke  the  wrath  of  frowning  Ottokar.  \ 

The  crown  is  mine — if  to  accept  I  care.  '\ 
But  first  let  it  be  here,  then  I'll  decide. 

Servant.  i 

The  chancellor,  my  lord,  Herr  Braun  of  Olmiitz.  \ 

OttoTcar.  ] 

You  see,  he  has  returned.  J 

Servant.                                             With  him  a  knight,  | 

In  armor  bright,  adorned  as  fits  a  prince,  \ 

And  heralds  two,  bearing  the  empire's  colors,  ^ 

The  eagle  at  the  breast.    Hear  now  their  trumpets!  \ 

Zawisch.  j 

Permit  us,  royal  lord  and  emperor,  ] 
That  we,  the  first,  of  your  most  loyal  subjects — 

(The  entire  assemblage  presses  forward.)  j 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      159 

OttoTcar. 

Stand  back!    Doth  think  the  diet's  deputy 
That  he  confers  unlooked-for  happiness? 
Nor  is  it  clear  that  I  accept  the  honor. 

{To  the  deputies  who  retire  to  the  rear.) 
Why  do  you  go?    Not  thus  are  you  dismissed? 
Nought  has  occurred  to  interrupt  your  task. 
But  he  of  Mainz,  tell  him  that  he  beware ! 
When  I  shall  see  the  Rhine,  as  soon  I  will. 
His  dastardly  intrigues  the  man  shall  rue 
Who  has  too  long  disgraced  the  bishop's  see.  — ^ 

{Enter  the  chancellor.     Surrounded  hy  eager  questioners,  he 
remains  in  the  background,  wringing  his  hands.) 

OttoTcar    {continuing). 

Nor  does  the  Palatine  command  my  favor. 

Let  the  Bavarian  have  his  electorate. 

O  more  than  one  thing  shall  be  changed  anon. 

And  all  those  pointed  out  here  in  this  letter — 
Zawisch  {venting  his  astonishment,  though  in  a  subdued  voice). 

The  empire's  choice,  then,  was  not  Ottokar? 

{The  chancellor,  with  folded  hands,  shakes  his  head.) 
Zawisch. 

Who  else  then  was  it? 
Chancellor. 

Rudolph,  Count  of  Hapsburg. 

Ottokar  {who  in  the  meantime  has  shown  the  deputies  the  let- 
ter, pointing  here  and  there  with  his  finger). 
These  have  to  go,  and  this  — 

{At  the  first  word  of  the  chancellor  he  listens  intently.  When 
he  hears  the  name  Hapsburg,  he  starts  convulsively,  the 
hand  which  holds  the  letter  trembles,  and  he  stammers.) 

And  this  must  go! 

{His  hand  drops,  he  all  but  sinks  to  the  ground,  but  summoning 
all  his  strength,  he  leaves  the  hall  with  a  firm  step.) 


160     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Zawisch. 

Can  it  be  true,  your  message,  chancellor? 
Chancellor, 

But  too  true,  Hapsburg  is  the  emperor. 
Zawisch. 

How  did  it  happen? 
Chancellor. 

All  presaged  success; 

The  princes  voted  mostly  for  our  lord, 

When  suddenly  appeared  the  chancellor 

Of  the  archbishop  of  Mainz — he  who  was  here — 

And  with  him  Wolkersdorf  of  Austria, 

And  Hartneid  Wildon  from  the  land  of  Steier, 

These   charged — ^but  hush!   the  king  returns. 
OttoTcar  {re-enters). 

Go,  tell  the  queen  to  be  in  readiness. 

Before  the  sun  sets  I  shall  hold  the  chase. 

{He  paces  up  and  down  with  a  firm  step.) 
Chancellor  {after  a  pause). 

O,  gracious  lord! 
OttoTcar. 

What  is  it?    You  here — ^you? 
Chancellor. 

Alas! 
OttoTcar. 


Chancellor. 


And  it  was  you  who  spoke? 

Ah,  yes ! 


OttoTcar. 

Damnation ! 
{Throws  his  glove  in  his  face,  then  seizes  his  hand,  and  taTces 

him  to  the  foreground.) 

What  was  all  this  idle  chatter 

About  the  diet  and  the  diet's  choice? 
Chancellor. 

Hear  from  these  men  the  tale! 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE  161                \ 

(Enter  the  hurgrave  of  Nuremberg,  preceded  ly  two  heralds                  \ 
and  followed  ly  several  attendants.) 

OttoJcar  (advancing).  i 

Who  are  you,  sir?                          1 

Burgrave.  ^ 

Frederick  of  Zollern,  sir,  my  name  is,  1 

Burgrave  of  Nuremberg,  sent  by  the  empire.  I 

Ottohar.  \ 

Good  luck  I  j 

(He  turns  his  hack  on  him.)                 l 

Burgrave,  \ 

Rudolph,  by  God's  grace  emperor —  \ 

Ottohar.  \ 

Sir  Knight,  am  I  to  be  the  empire's  butt  ?  \ 

Here  still  before  me  stand  the  deputies  ; 

Who  offered  me  the  crown,  and  ere  I  speak  *                           \ 

You  make  another  man  your  emperor!  \ 

Burgrave.  \ 

The  chancellor  of  the  archbishop  of  Mainz  ; 

Has  told,  sir,  how,  contemptuous,  you  refused  I 

The  sovereign  crown  and  all  that  it  implies.  \ 

Ottohar.  i 

O  German  barons,  faithless  to  your  pledge!  I 

Burgrave.  h 

Do  you  accuse  thus  princes  of  the  empire?  | 

Know  then  why  you  did  forfeit  their  support!  i 

We  sought  a  sovereign  just,  of  gracious  ways,  I 

Such  we  believed  you  when  the  crown  was  offered.  1 

But  news  there  came,  confirmed  by  witnesses,  \ 

And  loud  was  thundered  in  the  princes'  ears,  \ 
That  you  had  sorely  wronged  Queen  Margaret, 
Had  cast  away  from  bed  and  home  your  wife. 
And  also  heard  they  how  you  wronged  the  lands 

That  rightfully  to  Germany  belonged;  j 

How  your  disfavor  threatens  life  and  soul  \ 

Ere  law  and  justice  speak.    Not  such  the  ways  j 


162     GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

That  rule  the  men  of  Swabia  and  the  Rhenish  lands. 
We  want  a  kindly  and  a  gracious  lord, 
Above  all,  one  who  knows  what  justice  is. 
And  thus  reflecting,  did  they  cast  their  vote. 

Heinrich  von  Lichtenstein.  {Behind  the  scene.) 

O  treachery! 
Ottokar. 

Whose  voice? 

(Several  of  the  assembled  knights  call  out:) 
'Tis  Lichtenstein! 
Heinrich  von  Lichtenstein  {advancing). 

Whoever  calls  himself  an  Austrian,  beware! 
The  castle  gate  is  watched  by  servile  men. 
Who  lay  their  hands  on  all  who're  not  Bohemians. 
FUllenstein  (follows  him  with  drawn  sword). 

Surrender ! 
Ottohar. 

Heinrich,  you!    And  Ulrich,  you! 
Count  Bernhard  Pfannberg,  Seldenhoven,  you. 
And  Wulfig  Stubenberg — give  up  your  swords, 
And  give  your  persons  into  custody! 
Lichtenstein. 

And  our  offence? 
OttoJcar. 

That  you  may  not  offend. 
To  prison  I  assign  you.    Shall  you  also  run 
To  greet  the  newly  risen  Majesty, 
Like  Wolkersdorf  and  Wildon  ?    0  the  traitors ! 
And  Merenberg —  (Stamping  on  the  floor.) 

Who  brings  me  Merenberg? 
When  I  shall  pluck  him  from  his  craggy  nest. 
And,  face  to  face,  accused  you  all  shall  stand, 
Woe  to  the  man  who  guilty  knows  his  soul! 

(Turning  to  Zollern.) 
And  now  continue.    Let  your  tale  be  finished! 

(The  hostages  are  led  away.) 


j 

KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   163  j 

Burgrave.  \ 

What  here  I  see  may  save  the  explanation  ■ 

Why,  sir,  not  you  were  chosen  emperor.  \ 

And  this  my  message  to  Bohemia's  king:  j 

Rudolph,  the  Holy  Roman  Emperor,  - 

Asks  for  a  given  day  at  Nuremberg  I 

Your  presence,  as  the  bearer  of  the  cup,  < 

Your  dignity  befitting  as  elector,  j 

And  also  that  you  may  receive  in  trust  \ 

The  lands  you  rule,  Bohemia  and  Moravia.  1 

Ottohar.  \ 

These  only?    What?    Not  Austria,  not  Styria?  \ 

Burgrave. 

These,  Carniola  and  Carinthia,  I 

And  Eger,  Portenau,  the  Wendish  March,  j 

You  shall  surrender  to  the  emperor,  \ 

Retained  too  long  'gainst  warrant  of  the  law.  j 

Ottohar.  { 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha !    You  tell  a  merry  tale ! 

Is  there  nought  else  the  emperor  demands?  j 

Burgrave.  \ 

Only  what  is  the  realm's!  ] 

Ottohar.  \ 

But,  sir,  'tis  mine  I  \ 

From  Hungary  I  wrested  Styria  \ 
With  my  own  blood,  with  my  Bohemians'  blood; 

Carinthia  is  my  uncle's  legacy,  | 

By  law  now  mine  through  mutual  exchange,  ] 
And  Austria  as  a  dower  came  to  me 

From  Margaret,  my  queen  and  wedded  spouse.  j 

Burgrave.  \ 

And  where  is  now  the  queen?  i 

Ottohar.  J 

Though  now  divorced,  i 

She  did  confer  anew  what  she  had  given,  ] 
And  mine  is  all  that  formerly  was  hers. 


164     GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA  1 

Burgrave.  1 

According  to  decree  of  Emp'ror  Frederick,  \ 

The  lands  of  Austria  and  Styria  revert  j 

Not  to  the  sisters  of  who  last  held  fief,  ■ 

But  to  his  daughters;  and  Queen  Margaret  \ 

Was  sister  to  the  duke  of  Babenberg,                                 ,  j 

Duke  Frederick,  the  last  of  the  male  line.  \ 

The  empire's  lands  cannot  be  thus  transferred,  \ 

Nor  pass  from  hand  to  hand  by  marriage  pact.  | 

You  must  return  the  holdings  of  the  realm.  j 

Ottokar.  1 

I  doubt  not  your  new  sovereign  would  accept  | 

With  real  pleasure  all  those  smiling  lands,  | 
A  gift  to  his  poor  Swabia,  to  enrich 

His  meager  purse  and  fill  his  empty  hand.  \ 

Not  so,  my  friend!  I  am  now  old  enough  \ 

To  balance  carefully  my  gain  and  loss.  \ 

Go  back  and  tell  the  German  empire  this :  J 

— I  do  not  know  a  German  emperor —  ! 

Full  many  a  vulture  shall  on  carrion  feast                 -  I 

Ere  they  will  gain  what  is  Bohemia's  own.  ' 

He  would  invite  me?    Tell  him,  I  shall  come,  " 

i 

And  merry  guests  will  join  me  at  the  feast.  \ 

When  they  begin  to  dance  the  earth  shall  quake^  | 

This  tell  your  sovereign,  sir,  and  now  farewell!  | 

Zawisch.  ^ 

And  we — to  arms  for  glorious  Ottokar,  > 

With  heart  and  soul  to  battle  for  his  cause!  5 

(He  leaves;  others  are  about  to  follow  Mm.)  1 

Ottokar.  '[ 

Stop  ye!  To  arms?  Wherefore?  For  whom?  'Gainst  whom?  l 

Throughout  the  land  let  each  man  think  and  act  ] 

As  is  his  wont  in  times  of  piping  peace.  ] 

When  ripe  the  hour,  I'll  name  the  feast  and  guests.  \ 

Now  follow  me!     The  new-fledged  beggar  king  ] 

Shall  not  have  power  to  save  a  fleeing  deer!  ] 


KOISriG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      165 

To-morrow's  chase  at  Ribnik  suits  my  mood, 

You  are  invited  all  to  share  the  sport. 

Fetch  lights!    'Tis  getting  dark.    Where  are  the  torches? 

Now  for  a  merry  hunt!     Out  to  the  woods! 
{It  is  getting   darker.     A   short  pause,  after  which  there  is 

heard  the  sound  of  a  guitar  in  the  distance.) 
Maid   {leaving  the  queen's  chamber). 

So  they  have  left !    Who  plays  there  the  guitar  ?      * 
Queen  {entering). 

What  means  this?    Who's  the  player? 
Maid  {listening). 

Hush! — I  know  not — 

But  these  the  .words: 

"O  snowlike  hand 
In  fiery  mould." 

It  is  Herr  Zawisch  Rosenberg.     He  sings. 

Shall  I  forbid  the  music? 
Queen  {sits  down). 

Let  him  sing, 

'Tis  sweet  to  listen  in  the  evening  air. 

At  the  opening  of  the  third  act  old  Merenberg  is  taken 
prisoner  in  his  castle  by  Fiillenstein  and  Windischgratz. 
The  second  scene  shows  Ottokar's  camp  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  Danube.  The  chancellor  incurs  the  king's  displeas- 
ure by  speaking  of  the  growing  accessions  to  Rudolph's 
army  and  of  his  popularity  throughout  the  empire.  He 
implores  Ottokar  to  listen  to  the  compromise  Rudolph  pro- 
poses through  his  herald.  Zawisch  urges  Ottokar  not  to 
yield,  but  the  chancellor  accuses  him  of  insincerity  and 
succeeds  in  persuading  Ottokar  to  see  Rudolph.  The  king 
enjoys  in  advance  his  fancied  triumph  at  the  meeting: 

For  truly,  Zawisch,  I  should  like  to  see  him. 
Watch  his  demeanor  toward  Ottokar. 


166     GEILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

The  poor  knight  Hapsburg  in  the  emperor's  garb, 

What  will  he  say  when  in  the  self-same  tone 

With  which  I  called  to  him  at  Kroissenbrunn : 

"Count,  forward  and  attack!"     I  now  demand 

Austria,  Styria  and  the  empire's  fiefs? 

That  were  a  victory  without  an  army! 
Zawisch. 

Yet  should  he  slyly  and  by  tricky  ways — 
Ottohar. 

Be  it  then,  chancellor,  as  you  have  proposed. 
Chancellor. 

A  thousand  thanks! 
Ottokar, 

Ah,  thank  not  prematurely! 

I  shall  not  go  exactly  as  you'd  have  me. 

I  see  him  stand  and  try  to  plead  his  cause, 

Whilst  I  retort:    Keep  your  imperial  robes, 

I  hanker  not  for  them;  wear  them  in  peace, 

But,  sir,  my  country,  you  shall  never  touch! 

And  now  farewell,  and  may  the  Lord  be  with  you! 

At  most  we'll  grant  him  some  small  patch  of  ground. 

That  he  may  boast  of  it  at  home  and  say: 

A  conquest  for  the  Empire  we  have  made. 

This  joy  I  shall  not  grudge  him.    Chancellor,  come. 

On  peace  and  compromise  you  see  me  bent; 

In  this  you  lead  us  on,  and  we  shall  follow! 

Let  all  in  camp  with  me,  both  high  and  low, 

(turning  toward  the  entrance) 

Be  ready,  and  display  their  finest  garb. 

Their  armor,  rich  with  gold  and  silver  decked; 

A  sorry  fellow  whose  equipment  fails 

A  hundredfold  that  emperor  to  outshine! 

(Exit  Ottokar,  followed  hy  the  others.) 

(The  island  of  Kaurnberg  in  the  Danube.  Camp  of  the  Im- 
perialists. In  the  hachground  a  rich  tent,  decorated  with 
the  imperial  eagle.     A  few  steps  lead  up  to  it.    Enter  a 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      167 

captain,   followed   hy  several  soldiers,  who   are   trying   to 

keep  hack  the  clamorous  multitude  with  their  crossed  hal- 
berds.) 
Captain. 

Let  them  come  in,  the  emperor  permits  it ! 

(The  people  rush  in.) 
First  Citizen. 

Here  is  a  good  place,  here  let  us  remain! 
Second  Citizen. 

But  will  he  pass  here,  so  that  we  may  see? 
Woman  (to  her  child). 

Keep  close  to  me,  and  mind  your  flowers,  child  1 
Swiss  Soldier. 

Where  is  our  Rudi  ?    I'm  his  countryman, 

And  have  a  grievance  for  the  emperor's  ear. 
Captain. 

Have  patience!     But  you  see  the  tent  is  opening. 
(Emperor  Rudolph  seated  at  a  camp-table  in  the  tent.    Before 

him  a  helmet,  which  he  is  mending  with  a  hammer.    He 

looks  at  the  finished  work  with  satisfaction.) 
Rudolph. 

That  ought  to  serve  me  now  for  quite  a  while. 

(Looking  around.) 

I  see  they  come.— George,  help  me  put  this  on! 

(A  servant  assists  him  in  putting  on  his  coat.) 
First  Citizen. 

Say,  master  blacksmith,  saw  you  how  he  held, 

The  emperor,  a  hammer  in  his  hand? 

Three  cheers  for  Rudolph! 
Second  Citizen.  Hush!    For  here  he  comes. 

(The  emperor  descends  the  steps.) 
Sey fried  von  Merenberg. 

My  gracious  lord! 
Rudolph. 

How,  Merenberg,  is't  you? 

Be  not  in  fear,  your  father  shall  be  free. 


168     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTKIAN  DEAMA 

My  word  for  it.     Throughout  the  realm  reigns  peace. 

Vouchsafed  at  last  by  the  Almighty's  hand, 

And  so  it  shall  be  in  your  Austria,  too. 

Bohemia's  king  to-day  comes  for  a  talk, 

And  I  shall  think  of  you  before  all  else. 
{Merenherg  retires.     A  child  with  a  houquet  runs  toward  the 

emperor.) 
Rudolph. 

Whose  is  this  child?     What  is  your  name? 
A  Woman.  Kathrinal 

Kathrina  Frohlich,  burgher  child  from  Vienna. 
Rudolph. 

Don't  stumble,  Kathi!    Ah,  a  pretty  child! 

A  gentle  soul  shines  through  her  fine  brown  eyes 

And  mischievous  withal.    So  young  and  roguish! 

Your  pleasure,  my  good  woman? 
Woman. 

O  my  lord! 

Bohemian  troops  have  burned  our  house  and  home. 

And  sick  my  husband  lies  from  deep  chagrin. 
Rudolph   (to  one  of  his  attendants). 

Write  down  her  name,  and  see  what  can  be  done. 

(To  the  woman.) 

What  I  can  do  to  help  that  will  be  done. 
Swiss  Soldier  (advancing,  behind  him  three  or  four  others). 

With  your  permission,  gracious  countryman! 
Rudolph. 

Ah,  Walter  Stiissi,  from  Lucerne!     Your  errand? 

(To  the  child.) 

Now,  Katharina,  run  there  to  your  mother ; 

Your  father  shall  be  helped,  go  tell  her  that! 

(The  child  runs  to  her  mother.) 
Swiss  Soldier. 

I  and  the  others  here  from  Switzerland 

Have  come  to  ask  if  so  you  may  be  pleased 

To  let  us  have  some  money. 


KONIG  OTTOKAKS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      169 

Rudolph. 

Ah,  my  friend, 

A  good  thing  money  is.    Would  that  I  had  it! 
Swiss  Soldier. 

So  you  have  none  ?   And  yet  you  go  to  war  ? 
Rudolph. 

My  friend,  you  know  how  matters  were  at  home. 

Our  peasants  often  garnered  summer  grain, 

To  last  them  through  the  winter  until  spring. 

But  if  spring  haply  lingers  until  May, 

Instead  of  March,  and  snow  enwraps  the  soil 

— Which  otherwise  might  harbor  early  seed — 

If  then  the  hoarded  plenty  disappears. 

Do  you  call  reckless  him  who  has  to  use  it  ? 
Swiss  Soldier. 

No,  Heaven  forbid!    That  many  a  man  has  done. 

And  you?     I  see — 

(Addressing  his  countrymen.) 
He  is  that  peasant  now. 

And  if  the  winter  lasts — I  mean  the  war ; 

And  eaten  up  the  grain — I  mean  the  money — 

Well,  sir,  we  mind  not  waiting  still  a  while. 

But  until  then  the  peasants  must  provide. 
Rudolph. 

If  you  care  not  to  stay,  free  is  the  road! 

But  he  who's  not  content  with  soldier's  pay. 

And  lays  his  hand  on  peasant  property. 

Shall  hang,  and  were  he  my  best  friend ! 
Swiss  Soldier. 

A  simple  question 

I  thought  was  free.    I  merely  liked  to  know. 
Three  or  four  days  we  willingly  shall  wait; 
Perhaps  things  will  improve  till  then. 
Rudolph.  'Do  so. 

My  greetings  to  the  good  folk  of  Lucerne! 

{The  emperor  turns  to  go.)i 


170     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

OttoJcar  von  Horneck  {advancing). 

My  gracious  lord  and  emperor,  hear  me,  tool 
Rudolph. 

Who  are  you? 

Hornech. 

Ottokar  von  Horneck,  sir, 
Liege  to  the  noble  Ott  von  Lichtenstein, 
Whom  holds  the  king,  with  other  noble  knights, 
'Gainst   law   and  judgment   in   confinement  close. 
I  plead  for  him,  and  for  our  country,  too, 
A  good  lord  he,  and  good  this  land  of  ours. 
Deserving  that  a  prince  take  up  its  cause. 
Where  can  you  find  its  equal  on  this  earth? 
Look  round    you,  and  wherever  turns  your  eye, 
It  smiles  as  smiles  the  bridegroom  on  his  bride. 
Its  verdant  meadows,  fields  of  golden  grain. 
With  flax  and  saffron  spread  in  varied  hues 
And  flowers  fragrant,  and  with  healing  herbs; 
Thus  stretch  its  valleys  and  its  plains  their  breadth, 
A  garland  rich,  as  far  as  eye  can  see. 
Tied  by  the  Danube's  silvery  band  around. 
It  rises  gently  up  to  vine-clad  heights. 
Where  tempts  in  terraced  rows  the  golden  grape 
That  swelling  ripens  in  God's  glowing  sun. 
The  darksome,  teeming  woods  the  crown  of  all. 
And  God's  breath  hovers  over  mount  and  dale. 
And  warms  and  ripens  plants  and  quickens  pulse, 
As  never  pulse  is  quickened  on  cold  steppes. 
And  therefore  is  the  Austrian  gay  and  frank, 
His  frailties  unconcealed,  as  are  his  joys, 
Unenvying,  but  willing  to  be  envied. 
Whate'er  he  does  is  done  with  gladsome  spirit. 
Perhaps  in  Saxony  and  on  the  Rhine 
There  are  good  folk,  much  better  read  in  books. 
But  would  you  know  what  fitting  is  in  need. 
What  pleases  God  and  man;  seek  you  clear  sight. 


KONIG  OTTOKAKS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE       171 

An  open  mind  that  quickly  finds  the  right —  ^ 

Then  take  the  Austrian.    Among  them  all  I 

He  holds  his  own,  talks  little  and  thinks  much.  - 

0  blessed  land,  thou  fatherland!  Hemmed  in,  | 
'Tween  Italy,  the  child,  and  Germany,  the  man,  j 
Thou  lie'st  a  rosy  youth,  in  growing  strength.  1 
May  God  preserve  thy  blithesome  ways  and  spirits,  1 
That  turn  to  good  the  evil  others  wrought!  j 

Rudolph.  ] 

An  honest  man  this!  ] 

First  Citizen.                            Yes,  sir,  and  a  scholar!  ;; 

He  writes  a  chronicle,  and  you,  the  emperor,  1 

Appear  in  it,  { 

Rudolph.                   Not  painted  black,  I  trust!  | 

Thy  master,  be  assured,  will  soon  be  free.  ■ 

And  thou,  in  memory  of  this  hour,  accept  j 

This  chain,  a  not  unworthy  ornament  j 

B^or  honest  learning  and  for  honest  deed.  | 

(He  takes  a  chain  from  his  neck  and  hangs  it  around  Hornecky  j 

who  has  knelt  down.     Rudolph  then  addresses  one  of  the  { 

spectators.)  \ 

Think  you,  Sir  Knight,  my  favor  ill-bestowed?  i 

When  with  this  sword  I  shall  have  touched  this  man,  \ 

He  rises  a  true  knight,  as  brave  as  you.  j 

But  many  a  knight  I  know  not  what  to  touch  with,  j 

To  make  him  write  a  chronicle  like  his.  "J 

Put  what  I  say  not  in  your  rhymes,  my  friend,  \ 

1  would  not  have  me  praise  myself  through  you.  \ 

{Enter  captain.)  1 

Captain.  \ 

My   gracious   lord,   Bohemia's   king   is   near.  | 

Rudolph.  \ 

Good  God,  thy  hand  has  brought  me  to  this  pass,  j 

O  finish  thou  what  I  began  with  thee!  | 

{A  camp-stool  is  brought  in.    The  emperor  sits  down,  surrounded  | 

hy  his  followers.)  j 


172     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 


(Enter  King  Ottohar  in  resplendent  armor,  over  which  he  wears  \ 
a  richly  embroidered,  flowing  cloalc.  Instead  of  a  helmet  | 
he    wears    the    crown.      Behind    him    the    chancellor    and        h 

retinue.)  \ 

Ottohar.  \ 

In  vain  IVe  looked  long  to  the  right  and  left;  \ 
Where  is  your  emperor,  my  noble  lords? 

Ah,  you  are  here,  Herr  Merenberg?    You  here?  1 

I  doubt  not,  we  shall  elsewhere  meet,  ere  long!  * 

But  where  is  Eudolph?  I 

{He  sees  him  and  goes  toward  him,)        i 

I  salute  you,  Hapsburg!  \ 

Rudolph  {rising,  to  those  around  him).  % 

Why  do  you  stand  here,  with  uncovered  heads?  j 

If  Ottokar  seeks  Hapsburg,  man  to  man,  ' 

Then  Jack  and  Tom  may  covered  keep  their  heads;  ] 

He  is  their  like,  a  man —    Don't  lift  your  caps!  \ 

Yet  stands  the  subject  in  the  liege  lord's  presence,  ■ 

Bohemia's  prince  before  his  emperor.  j 

{Steps  among  them.)         ^ 

Then  woe  to  him  who  lacks  in  due  respect!  i 

{He  approaches  Ottohar  with  rapid  steps.)         '* 

I  greet  you,  Ottokar.    What  is  your  errand?  ^ 

Ottohar  {stepping  hach  in  confusion).  i 

I  was  invited  to  a — conference.  ■ 

Rudolph.  J 

Ah,  yes,  grave  public  matters  to  discuss.  1 

I  thought  it  was  perhaps  a  friendly  call.  ^ 

To  business  then!     Why  comes  Bohemia's  king  "\ 

So  late  in  answer  to  imperial  order  ?  j 

Three  times  before  I've  asked  you  to  appear—  -; 

At  Nuremberg,  at  Wiirzburg,  and  at  Augsburg —  ] 

That  you  receive  from  me  in  fief  your  lands ;  I 

But  you  responded  not.     The  last  time  came  1 

Instead  of  you  the  worthy  Herr  von  Seckau,  \ 

Who  none  too  worthily  fulfilled  his  task.  '           ] 


KOOTG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      173 

Ottohar. 

In  fief  King  Richard  gave  to  me  Bohemia ! 

Rudolph. 

Yes,  he  of  Cornwall.    Ah,  there  was  a  time 
When  purchasable  was  in  Germany- 
Much  more  than  merely  fiefs  and  landed  wealth. 
That  time  is  past,  however,    I  have  sworn, 
And  pledged  my  faith  to  my  Almighty  God, 
That  right  and  justice  evermore  shall  reign 
In  German  lands ;  and  thus  it  shall  and  must  be. 
You  have  done  wrong,  king  of  Bohemia, 
Imperial  prince,  to  emperor  and  realm! 
The  archbishop  of  Salzburg  tells  a  tale 
Of  how  you  carried  death  into  his  land. 
Your  armies  spreading  ruin  and  devastation. 
In  cruelty  surpassing  pagan  wrath. 

OttoTcar. 

Due  challenge  gave  I  of  an  honest  feud. 

Rudolph. 

But  feud  was  not  to  be !    Peace  is  to  rule  I 
The  lands  of  Austria  and  Styria, 
Carinthia,  Carniola,  and  the  Wendish  March, 
Till  now  withheld  unjustly  from  the  realm, 
You  will  surrender  all  into  my  hand! 
There's  ink  and  paper  here.    The  document 
Is  to  be  drawn  up  now  and  sealed  forthwith. 

OttoTcar, 

Ha,  by  the  Mighty  Lord,  am  I  myself? 
Is  this  still  Ottokar?    And  this  his  sword? 
Am  I  to  be  addressed  in  terms  like  these? 
What  is  to  happen,  sir,  if  failing  answer, 
I  shall  retrace  my  steps  across  the  Danube, 
And  speak  again  when  leading  forth  my  army? 

Rudolph. 

A  twelve-month  back  you  might  have  spoken  thus. 
And  on  war's  bloody  die  have  risked  your  fate. 


174    GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

You  are  a  martial  lord,  as  all  men  know. 
And  used  to  victory  your  armies  are. 
Your  treasury  with  silver 's  filled  and  gold. 
Not  such  my  outfit,  much  I  lack,  in  truth; 
And  yet,  sir,  see,  my  courage  fails  me  not. 
If  every  man  of  them  forsook  my  camp. 
With  crown  and  sceptre  I  should  go  alone 
To  dare  the  challenge  of  your  threat'ning  force, 
And  I  should  call:  Sir,  give  the  realm  its  due! 
I  am  not  he  whom  formerly  you  knew. 
Not  Hapsburg  am  I,  and  not  Rudolph  I, 
The  blood  of  Germany  flows  in  these  veins. 
The  pulse  of  Germany  beats  in  this  heart. 
What  mortal  was  in  me  has  left  me. 
The  emperor  am  I  who  never  dies. 
When  called  the  voice  which  lifted  me  on  high. 
Who  ne'er  indulged  a  dream  of  regal  power. 
And  when  the  Lord  placed  on  my  humble  brow 
His  empire's  crown,  anointed  then  I  stood. 
In  wondering  awe,  a  wonder  to  myself. 
And  there  I  learned  to  trust  in  miracles. 
No  prince  was  once  less  mighty  than  myself. 
And  now  the  princes  of  the  realm  my  vassals! 
Those  who  disturbed  the  peace  fled  at  my  call. 
Not  I  did  this;  His  might  affirighted  them. 
Five  paltry  coins  was  all  I  called  my  own 
When  I  took  ship  at  Ulm  to  join  my  troops. 
Bavaria's  duke  rebelled,  he  soon  succumbed; 
Few  soldiers  brought  I  with  me  to  this  land. 
The  land  itself  in  plenty  gave  me  soldiers. 
From  out  your  ranks  they  came  and  followed  me. 
And  Austrians  helped  me  conquer  Austria. 
Sworn  have  I  peace  and  justice  to  maintain. 
As  has  ordained  the  holy,  triune  Lord. 
And  not  an  inch,  a  single  hair's  breadth  not 
Shall  you  retain  of  that  which  is  not  yours. 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   175 

Thus  stand  I ;  and  before  the  eye  of  Heaven, 

I  call  to  you:  Give  back  the  empire^s  own! 
OttoTcar. 

These  lands  are  mine! 
Rudolyh. 

They  never  were  your  own. 
OttoTcar. 

Through  Margaret,  my  wife,  I  came  by  them. 
Rudolph. 

Where  now  is  Margaret? 
Ottohar. 

No  matter  where. 

From  her  I  got  them. 
Rudolph. 

Shall  she  come  herself 

To  judge  between  us  two? —    She  is  in  camp! 
Ottohar. 

She,  here,  in  camp? 
Rudolph  {in  changed  tones). 

She,  whom  you  sadly  wronged, 

Deprived  of  joys,  and  of  her  right  deprived. 

This  morn  she  came  to  plead  in  accents  mild 

That  I  spare  him  who  never  spared  his  wife, 
Ottohar. 

The  woman  might  have  saved  herself  the  trouble  1 

No  pleading  advocate  needs  Ottokar! 
Rudolph  {with  emphasis). 

Well  may  she  plead,  proud  ruler  of  Bohemia, 

For  at  one  word  from  me,  sir,  you  are  lost  I 
Ottohar. 

Lost? 
Rudolph. 

Yes,  cut  off  completely  from  Bohemia. 

Ottohar. 

The  while  to  Vienna  you  lay  siege,  I  free  it! 


176     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 


Rudolph.  1 

Free  Vienna?    It  is  mine.  \ 

Ottokar.  ] 

Nol  I 

Rudolph  (turning  around).  j 

Paltram  Vatzol  I 

Where  is  Herr  Paltram?    He  desired  to  see  me,  j 

The  mayor  of  Vienna,  with  the  city  councillors.  ^ 

(Enter  Paltram  Vatzo,  hurgomaster  of  Vienna,  with  several  i 
members  of  the  council,  carrying  the  keys  of  the  city  on  a        | 

cushion.)  i 

Paltram.  I 

My  lord  and  emperor,  I  humbly  beg  i 

To  lay  the  keys  of  Vienna  at  your  feet,  j 

And  I  do  pray  that  you  restrain  your  ire.  i 

Faith  kept  I  to  the  king,  whom  faith  I  pledged,  j 

Defending  Vienna  till  this  very  day,  \ 

Indeed  would,  with  your  leave,  have  held  it  longer,  ] 

Had  not  the  people  forced  me  to  surrender,  ■] 

Tired  of  the  siege  and  of  their  sad  privations.  j 

(He  places  the  keys  at  the  emperor's  feet.)  I 

My  office,  with  the  keys,  do  I  lay  down!  | 

But  you  shall  find  in  me  a  loyal  subject.  1 

(He  rises.)         i 

My  country's  lord  is  Paltram  Vatzo's  lord,  1 

Together  with  my  country  I  surrender.             (He  retires,)  I 

Ottokar.  I 

Accursed  luck!     O  fickle  Viennese!  i 

Ye  trembled  lest  your  favorite  dainties  fail!  A 

But  ye  shall  rue  it!     The  approach  I'll  cut  \ 

From  Klosterneuburg,  my  defiant  fort.  | 

Rudolph.  t 

Your  Klosterneuburg,  too,  you  own  no  more.  i 

The  right  shore  of  the  Danube  all  is  mine.  j 

Herr  Friedrich  Pettau,  come!  1 

(Friedrich  Pettau  advances,  with  downcast  eyes.) 


KONIG  OTTOKAK'S  GLUCK  UKD  EKDE      177 
Ottohar. 

O  shameless  traitor. 
My  fortress  thou  gavest  up? 

Pettau, 

Not  I,  my  lord. 
Attacked  without  a  warning,  late  last  night — 

Ottolcar. 

Enough!    I  know  that  traitors  are  at  work. 
Yet  triumph  not!     Still  shall  I  thwart  your  plans! 
From  Styria  approach  my  goodly  troops. 
With  Milota,  their  tried  and  trusty  leader; 
He  seizes  in  the  rear  your  gathered  minions, 
While,  like  the  whirlwind,  Ottokar  swoops  down 
Upon  your  front,  and  mows  it  down  like  grass. 
Or  dooms  it  to  seek  refugo  in  the  flood. 

Rudolph. 

0  speak  not  thus,  too  rashly  daring  prince  I 
Ottohar. 

See  you  at  last  how  distant  is  your  goal? 
Rudolyh. 

My  warning  hear:  Trust  not  to  Milota  I 
Ottolcar. 

1  stand  on  solid  ground.    You  ought  to  tremble. 
Our  arms  decide  between  us!    Now  farewell! 

Rudolph, 

You  leave?    And  give  not  up  the  lands? 
Ottohar  {about  to  go). 


Give  up? 


Rudolph. 

Then  speak  yourself  with  Milota,  and  see 
If  rightly  you  can  put  your  trust  in  him. 

Milota  (led  in  fettered). 

Rudolph. 

Thus  did  the  Styrians  bring  him  to  me. 
In  chains,  to  pay  for  his  relentless  rule. 


178     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Remove  his  fetters!     Here  behold  the  flag 
Of  Styria,  and  here  the  Austrian  flag! 
{Lords  of  Austria  and  Styria  gather  around  the  emperor,  with 
the  banner  and  the  colors  of  their  lands,) 
Themselves  they  sought  the  empire's  mighty  shield. 
Let  sadness  not  overpower  you,  Ottokar! 
Around  you  look!    Dispersed  are  now  the  clouds. 
And  things  reveal  themselves  in  their  true  light. 
With  Austria  lost  to  you — 

OttoJcar, 

O  lost  not  yet! 

Rudolph. 

Be  not  deceived!    Your  inmost  voice  foretells 
That  Austria  is  lost,  forever  lost  to  you. 
You  were  a  mighty  ruler,  a  great  king. 
Ere  the  occasion  to  extend  your  realm 
Bred  the  consuming  wish  for  more  and  more. 
Still  shall  you  mighty  be,  and  rich  and  great, 
Even  though  lost  what  you  could  not  retain. 
For  God  forbid  that  I  stretch  forth  a  finger 
To  seize  one  jot  of  what  is  rightly  yours. 
Nor  could  I,  for  you  have  a  mighty  force, 
Equipped  for  battle  and  inured  to  war. 
Whose  issue  is  uncertain,  as  I  know. 
Yet,  tempt  not  fate!     Ignore  not  God's  decree, 
Which  plainly  has  declared  His  holy  will. 
Like  you,  a  proud  ambition's  prodding  spur 
Had  urged  me  on  when  in  the  flush  of  youth. 
'Gainst  friend  and  foe,  at  home  and  in  strange  lands, 
I  tried  my  youthful  arm  in  deeds  of  strength. 
As  though  the  world  were  made  but  to  give  scope 
To  Rudolph  and  his  sword.    Exiled,  I  joined 
Your  army  in  the  war  'gainst  heathen  Prussia, 
And  the  Hungarians  at  your  side  I  fought. 


KOKIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      179 

Though  chafing  inwardly  under  restraint 
Imposed  by  Church  and  State  in  petty  fear. 
My  daring  courage  yearned  for  wider  fields. 
Then  laid  His  mighty  hand  on  me  the  Lord, 
And  placed  me,  undeserving,  on  a  throne 
Which  seems  established  to  defy  the  world  I 
And  like  a  pilgrim  who  has  scaled  a  height. 
And  now  looks  down  upon  the  spreading  plain. 
And  on  the  walls  which  long  oppressed  his  soul, 
I  felt  that  from  my  eyes  had  dropped  the  scales. 
And  from  ambition's  idle  dream  I  woke. 
The  world  was  given  us  that  all  might  live, 
And  great  alone  is  the  Almighty  God! 
No  longer  dreams  the  earth  its  youthful  dreams. 
And  with  the  vanished  giants  and  with  dragons 
The  age  of  dauntless  heroes  fled  forever. 
No  more,  like  avalanches,  hurl  their  might 
Nations  upon  each  other.     Tumult  dies. 
And,  judging  by  all  signs,  I  fain  believe 
We  see  the  dawning  of  a  better  age. 
The  peasant  peaceful  walks  behind  his  plough. 
The  burgher  busy  plies  his  wonted  trade. 
And  industries  and  commerce  rule  the  day. 
The  Swabians  and  the  Swiss  are  planning  leagues. 
And  their  swift  ships  the  Hanse  towns  expedite. 
In  East  and  North  to  seek  their  lawful  gain. 
You  ever  sought  to  benefit  your  lands; 
Grant  them  but  peace,  most  precious  of  all  gifts. 
O  Ottokar,  what  happy  days  were  those 
When,  from  the  Prussian  fray  returned,  we  sat 
Upon  your  lofty  castle's  balcony  in  Prague, 
And  spoke  of  future  days  and  future  deeds! 
Then  near  us  sat  Queen  Margaret — 
Would  you  not  see  her,  now  see  Margaret? 


OttoJcar. 
Sir! 


180    GRILLPABZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Rudolph. 

O  that  you  ne'er  had  cast  from  you  that  angel 

Whose  gentle  presence  soothing  comfort  gave. 

Your  flaming  ire  to  blessing  often  turned, 

A  loving  sister  in  her  ceaseless  care! 

Your  luck  you  banished  when  you  banished  her. 

Would  you  see  Margaret?    She  is  in  camp. 
OttoJcar. 

No,  sir!    But  I  shall  take  the  fiefs  you  offer. 

Rudolph. 

Those  of  Bohemia  and  Moravia? 

Ottohar. 

Yes,  emperor  I 
Rudolph. 

And  to  the  realm  surrender — 
OttoJcar. 

Austria  and  Styria, 

What  claims  the  empire,  and  has  turned  from  me. 

Much  have  I  done  for  them!    Ingratitude, 

Man's  utter  baseness,  sickens  me  to  death. 
Rudolph. 

Come  to  my  tent  then,  king! 
Ottohar. 

And  why  not  here? 
Rudolph. 

The  fiefs  are  but  bestowed  on  him  who  kneels. 
OttoJcar. 

Kneel,  I? 
Rudolph. 

The  tent  screens  us  from  curious  gaze. 

There  shall  you  kneel  before  God  and  the  realm. 

And  not  before  one  mortal  like  yourself, 
OttoJcar. 

Then  be  it  so! 
Rudolph. 

You  will?    Blessed  be  the  hour  I 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      181 

Go  in  before  me,  and  Til  gladly  follow; 
A  glorious  victory  we  both  have  gained! 
{They  enter  the  tent,  the   curtains  closing  behind  them.) 
Milota   {joining  his  followers). 

Now  God  be  praised,  for  once  more  am  I  free ! 
The  last  days'  happenings  long  I  shall  remember. 

(Enter  Zawisch  von  Rosenberg.) 

Zawisch. 

Where  is  the  king? 
Milota. 

In  the  emperor's  tent  he  is. 

His  fiefs  he  takes. 

Zawisch. 

Ah,  ah!    But  why  in  secret? 

Let  all  those  see  it  who  have  loyal  hearts! 
(He  cuts  with  his  sword  the  cords  that  hold  the  tent  together; 

the    curtains   spread,   disclosing    Ottokar   kneeling    before 

Rudolph,  who  with  his  sword  has  just  conferred  on  him 

the  fief  of  Bohemia.) 

The  king  kneels ! 

Bohemians  (muttering). 

Our  king  kneels  I 

Ottokar. 

O  the  disgrace ! 
(He  jumps  up  and  hurries  toward  the  foreground.) 
Rudolph  {following  him,  with  the  banner  of  Moravia  in  his 
hand). 
Will  you  not  take  Moravia  in  fief? 

(Ottokar  bends  his  knee,) 

Thus  do  I  give  in  fief  Moravia, 

The  margraviate,  and  take  your  solemn  pledge 

To  give  allegiance  to  the  imperial  realm, 

As  God  has  willed,  and  has  my  power  decreed. 

And  now,  my  king,  arise,  and  with  this  kiss 


182     GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

I  greet  you  as  my  vassal  and  my  brother. 

And  you  who  fealty  owe  to  Austria, 

And  lands  in  fief  hold  by  its  ruler's  grace, 

With  me  to  Vienna  go,  to  pledge  the  faith, 

As  is  your  solemn  duty  to  your  lord! 

Will  you,  too,  follow,  gracious  sir  and  king? 

(OttoJcar  hows.) 

I  shall  await  your  pleasure  then,  my  lord. 

You,  raise  the  banners,  and  let  joy  resound. 

To  crown  sweet  concord's  bloodless  victory! 
(He  departs  with  his  followers.    OttoJcar  remains  standing,  with 

howed  head.     Seyfried  von  Merenherg,  who  has  remained 

behind,  advances  hesitatingly,  in  a  supplicating  manner.) 
Merenherg. 

My  gracious  lord,  I  pray  you  may — 
OttoJcar  (starts  up,  casting  a  furious  looJc  at  Seyfried;  he  wrests 

with  one  hand  tJie  hucJcle  from  his  cloaJc,  which  falls  to 

the  ground,  while  with  the  other  he  tears  the  crown  from 

his  head.     He  dashes  out,  calling:) 

Away! 

The  scene  at  the  opening  of  the  fourth  act  is  in  front 
of  the  castle  at  Prague. 

(A  large  gate,  with  a  portcullis,  in  the  middle.  Next  to  it, 
raised  hy  a  few  steps,  a  small  closed  postern.  To  the  right 
the  gateJceeper's  dwelling,  containing  a  stone  table  and  a 
bench.  In  front  of  it  a  bed  of  flowers.  Milota  and  FUllen- 
stein  enter  from  opposite  sides.) 

Milota. 

Saw  you  the  king? 

FUllenstein.  No. 

Milota.  Nor  could  I  find  him. 

FUllenstein. 

At  Znaim  his  retinue  lost  sight  of  him. 
He  disappeared,  with  him  a  single  servant. 
Now  aimless  in  Moravia  wanders  he. 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      183 

At  Kraliz  lie  was  seen,  at  Hradisch,  Lukow, 
Last  at  Kostelez,  very  near  to  Stip, 
Where  flows  a  little  wonder-working  spring, 
To  which  from  far-off  pious  pilgrims  come. 
A  wretched  hut  for  bathers  lonely  stands. 
Deep  in  a  hollow,  from  the  world  remote ; 
There  for  a  fortnight  he  remained  concealed, 
A  solitude  to  die  in,  not  to  live. 
And  as  the  pilgrim's  habit  is — who  throws. 
Plagued  by  some  gnawing  unfulfilled  desire, 
A  cross  of  fagots  down  into  the  well. 
To  watch  it  sink  or  swim,  prophetic  of  his  fate — 
So  did  he,  day  by  day  in  sadness  steeped. 
This  heard  at  last  the  magistrate  of  Hradisch, 
And  hurried  thither  to  o'ertake  the  king, 
But  he  was  gone,  and  far  beyond  his  reach. 

Milota. 

And  where  he  now  may  be  you  could  not  learn? 

Fullenstein. 

They  say  he  has  been  seen  to  take  the  road 
For  Prague. 

Milota. 

Hither? — I  hope  he  finds  here  rest. 
His  daring  wings,  'tis  true,  ^re  somewhat  clipped; 
The  land  which  tempted  him  beyond  his  sphere 
He  has  restored  with  solemn  oath  and  pledge. 
Would  he  now  rule  as  did  his  ancestors. 
Expel  the  Germans  from  this  realm  of  ours. 
And  leaning  on  his  true  Bohemian  nobles. 
Think  only  of  his  nation's  happiness. 
Perhaps  I  might  forget  how  much  he  sinned 
'Gainst  me  and  mine. — Shall  you  the  chancellor  see? 
If  so,  say  that  a  herald  of  the  empire 
Is  now  before  the  gates  of  Prague.    He  asks 
A  strict  fulfillment  of  the  peace  concluded. 
Above  all  freedom  for  the  hostages 


184    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

From  Austria  and  Styria,  still  held  captive. 

What  he  demands  be  granted  speedily. 

Ere  comes  the  king  and  frustrates  this  and  that. 
Fiillenstein. 

But  if  the  king  should — 
Milota. 

Do  as  you  are  told! 

(Exit  Fiillenstein.) 

Were  not  the  land  insulted  in  his  person, 

I,  too,  should  laugh  as  I  heard  Zawisch  laugh. 

Let  everything  be  done  before  he  comes. 

Then  can  he  but  confirm  and — go  to  sleep. 
(He  retires  into  the   castle.     A  short  pause.     A   servant  of 

the  king  appears.    He  looks  carefully  about  him,  then  calls 

hack.) 
Servant. 

'Tis  well !    No  one  is  here,  my  gracious  lord  I 

(Enter  Ottokar,  wrapped  in  a  dark  cloak.  A  black  cap  with  black 
feathers  partly  covers  his  face.) 

Servant. 

Shall  I,  sir,  fetch  the  chancellor  ?    Gracious  king. 
Would  you  not  rather  enter  now  the  castle? 
Two  days  it  is  since  last  you  tasted  food. 
Nor  have  you  slept.    Think  of  your  precious  life! 

{The  king  laughs  sneeringly.) 
Let  me  entreat  you,  O  retire  within! 

(Ottokar  stamps  upon  the  ground  impatiently.) 
I  go.    But  seek  some  rest,  my  lord,  I  pray ! 

(He  goes  into  the  castle.) 

Ottokar. 

Shall  I  thy  threshold  cross,  ancestral  castle. 

And  enter  thee  with  desecrating  step? 

When  I  returned  victorious,  'mid  shouts 

That  echoed  through  the  joyful  streets  of  Prague, 

And  stood  before  thee  with  the  banners  taken. 

Then  gladly  didst  thou  ope  thy  gates  to  me, 


KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      185  ] 

And  my  forefathers  welcomed  me  on  high.  I 

For  heroes  only  rose  thy  mighty  walls,  'i 

Untouched  by  him  whose  honor  bears  a  stain.  ^ 
Here  shall  I  sit,  the  keeper  of  my  gate, 

To  ward  off  shame  from  my  own  house  and  home.  ^ 

{He  seats  himself  upon  the  steps  and  wraps  his  cloak  about  his  j 

head.)  j 

(Enter  the  burgomaster  of  Prague  and  some  citizens.)  ] 

Burgomaster.  \ 

Let  me  depart,  I  hasten  to  the  council.  t 

A  herald  of  his  majesty,  the  emperor,  ; 

Is  here,  and  it  behooves  us  not  to  tarry,  ] 

For  once  more  to  the  realm  is  joined  Bohemia.  j 

King  Ottokar  has  given  a  solemn  pledge,  \ 

And  kneeling  vowed  forever  to  be  faithful.  \ 

A  Citizen.  l 
How,  kneeling? 

Burgomaster.  \ 
Yes,  he  knelt  in  the  emperor's  camp. 
He  knelt,  I  say,  the  while  the  emperor  sat. 
The  army  saw  it  all  in  dumb  amazement. 

Who's  stirring  there?  3 

Citizen.  \ 

A  man  sits  on  the  steps.  ^ 

Burgomaster.  j 

I  oft  have  said  that  pride  is  doomed  to  fall.  h 

Go,  see  who's  sitting  there  before  the  gate.  ; 

Suspicious  folk  roam  o'er  the  country  now,  ; 

The  soldier  comes  from  war  in  ugly  mood.  ] 

Citizen    {returning.)  t 

O  Lord!  I 

Burgomaster.  \ 

Thou  tremblest,  man!  \ 

Citizen,  \ 

It  is  the  king!  \ 


186     GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Burgomaster. 

That  man  there  on  the  steps?     Thou'rt  mad! 

Citizen. 

I  saw  his  face.    Look  for  yourself ! 

Burgomaster. 

'Tis  he! 

What  if  he  heard  what  we  have  said  just  now! 

Shall  I  invoke  forgiveness  on  my  knees? 

'Twere  best  perhaps  to  go.    He's  lost  in  thought. 
{They  retire  to  the  background.    Benesch  von  Dieditz  and  his 

daughter  appear.) 
Benesch  (leaning  on  his  staff,  leading  Bertha). 

O  daughter,  see  how  cheers  and  warms  the  sun! 

Thou  wilt  enjoy  the  air!     Come,  Bertha,  come! 

Unwholesome  is  the  closeness  of  thy  room. 

And  just  to  please  thy  father,  speak  again! 

Speak,  Bertha,  speak,  if  but  a  single  word! 

Say  yes  or  no,  child!     Thy  old  father  asks! 

See,  soon  it  will  be —    I  cannot  recall 

How  long  it  is  since  silent  thus  thou  starest. 

'Tis  pitiful!    O  Bertha,  canst  thou  talk? 

I'd  rather  hear  thee  rave  in  fever  heat 

Than  not  to  hear  all  day  a  single  word. 

What's  past  is  past.    Forget,  and  all  is  well ! 
Burgomaster. 

Hush! 

Benesch. 

Hush?    Alas,  her  mouth  is  hushed  for  aye! 

Nor  day  nor  night  does  she  unseal  her  lips. 
Burgomaster  (in  a  low  voice). 

There  sits  the  king! 

Benesch. 

Where? 
Burgomaster. 

There  upon  the  steps  I 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE  187                 \ 

Benesch. 

There,  Bertha,  see,  there  sits  the  wicked  king. 

Who  did  thee  so  much  harm,  my  darling  child!  J 

Go  speak  to  him  and  scold  him — now's  the  time —  \ 

Say:     "I  am  glad,  poor  man,  of  thy  misfortune,  \ 

For  thou  hast  sinned  against  me  and  my  father!"  j 

(Bertha  picks  up  a  handful  of  earth  and  throws  it  aimlessly,  as  i 

children  do,  wide  of  the  mark.)  i 

Yes,  throw  it  at  him !    Would  thou  might'st  throw  daggers  I  « 

Throw,  Bertha,  throw,  and  hit  that  wicked  man!  i 

But  God  has  undertaken  our  revenge;  \ 

For  he  has  knelt  before  his  bitterest  foe,  \ 

Before  a  man  whom  he  had  once  despised;  ] 

In  full  view  of  his  soldiers  did  he  kneel.  I 

O  do  not  rise,  no  longer  art  thou  feared!  \ 

A  greater  far  than  thou  has  conquered  thee.  1 

O  if  my  child  could  but  regain  her  tongue,  I 

I'd  care  not  who  might  death  inflict  on  me!  ] 

(Enter  the  queen,  with  Zawisch  and  servants.)  ^ 

Queen.  1 

Who  gave  admission  to  yon  crazy  maid?  j 

Were  you  not  told  to  keep  her  in  close  watch?  I 

Benesch  (who  is  led  away).  j 

Come,  Bertha,  come;  he  also  bears  a  cross.  j 

Queen.  I 

Away,  ye  all,  whoe'er  has  eyes  to  see!  \ 

(All  leave,  with  the  exception  of  herself  and  Zawisch.)  ^ 

We  are  alone,  alone  with  our  disgrace!  \ 

Will  you  not  rise,  my  lord  and  gracious  king,  j 

And  use  big  phrases,  as  has  been  your  wont?  j 

See,  there  he  sits,  the  giant-like  and  proud,  J 

Who  thought  the  world  too  small  to  hold  his  greatness;  | 

There  sits  he  like  a  beggar  out-of-doors,  ^ 

Whom  greets:  "God  help  you!"  in  a  cold  contempt?—  \ 

The  man  who  held  his  crowns  like  idle  garlands,  ] 


188     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Cast  off  the  faded,  and  put  on  the  fresh. 

Wreathed    from    the    flowers    he    snatched    from    foreign 

gardens, 
And  held  the  lives  of  thousands  in  his  hand. 
For  lives  to  him  were  pawns  to  play  withal. 
And  chess  the  game  he  played  with  joyful  heart. 
When  knight  and  horse  he  placed  upon  the  field, 
The  bloody  field  of  battle's  merry  sport! 
The  very  elements  he  warred  against. 
When  in  the  morning  he  rode  out  to  hunt. 
And  saw  the  sky  was  somewhat  overcast. 
He  for  the  master  mason  sent  forthwith, 
And  ordered  him  to  cease  at  Giildenkron 
All  work  on  the  new  church  there  going  up. 
There  sits  he,  and  stares  lifeless  at  the  ground 
His  proud  foot  used  to  stamp  in  unchecked  fury. 

Zawisch. 

Ah,  gracious  lady,  round  is  fortune's  wheel! 

Queen. 

The  sacred  ties  of  others  he  made  game  of. 
He  cast  from  him  his  wife,  Queen  Margaret — 
Her  aged  looks,  God  knows,  were  fit  for  him. 
Her  sorrowful  expression  matched  his  fate — 
And  in  far  Hungary  he  sought  a  spouse. 
What  cared  he  if  mayhap  she'd  cast  an  eye 
On  some  one  else  long  ere  he  thought  of  her; 
If  at  that  very  time  one  not  as  great. 
And  yet  much  greater,  wooed  her  heart  and  hand, 
A  free  and  untamed  leader  of  the  Magyars, 
Outweighing  far  Bohemia's  servile  king. 
What  cared  he  ?    He  must  have  a  wife  and  heir. 
And  brooked  no  opposition,  his  will  law. 
In  youthful  vigor  came  I  to  this  court. 
Worthy  the  love  of  any  youthful  spouse. 
I  came  and  found — well,  a  king  Ottokar, 
Kot  quite  so  doleful  as  yon  brooding  man, 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLtJCK  UND  ENDE      189 

But  not  indeed  miich  better.  Heaven  knows! 
He  kept  me  from  his  council,  scorned  my  help, 
A  servant  held  me,  rather  than  a  queen. 
He  to  be  ruler,  and  but  he  alone. 

Zawisch. 

Ah,  gracious  queen,  His  sweet  to  rule  alone, 
Well  nigh  as  sweet  as  may  obedience  be. 

Queen. 

His  rule  is  over,  he  was  once  a  king, 
A  bubble  was  he;  bursting,  His  no  more. 
O  he  could  talk,  talk  like  a  mighty  prince! 
Of  his  achievements  spoke  he  loud  and  well. 
What  ne'er  had  happened  and  was  ne'er  to  be 
In  his  mouth  was!    When  he  of  Nuremberg 
The  emperor's  message  first  conveyed  to  him. 
How  proud  his  words,  how  kingly  his  demeanor! 
For  not  a  town,  a  house,  nor  clod  of  earth 
Would  he  give  up  of  Austria's  wide  domain; 
And  if  a  hundred  times  should  swear  the  doctors. 
That  threatened  was  the  emperor's  very  life, 
A  healing  herb  from  Austrian  fields  he'd  grudge. 
An  animal  lives  on  our  steppes  called  mule. 
When  he  sees  from  afar  the  wolf  approach. 
He  brays  aloud,  kicks  to  the  right  and  left. 
And  throws  the  earth  up  into  whirling  dust; 
But  when  the  wolf's  upon  him,  he  stands  trembling. 
And  lets  himself  be  torn  without  a  struggle. 
Has  not  this  king  been  mule-like  in  his  ways? 
Loud-mouthed  he  set  out  for  the  seat  of  war; 
His  army  represented  half  a  world. 
Of  Poles  and  Germans,  Tartars  and  Bohemians, 
A  varied  babel  in  his  noisy  camp. 
All  Austria  too  small  to  hold  their  number. 
But  when  the  battle's  solemn  hour  approached, 
A  heart  was  lacking  to  these  sturdy  arms. 
And  Rosenberg  was  in  the  enemy's  camp. 


190     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Zawisch. 

My  gracious  lady! 

Queen. 

Did  you  ever  kneel! 
Not  before  women,  before  men,  I  mean? 
For  pay,  reward,  from  fear,  before  your  like? 

Zawisch. 

Not  I. 
Queen. 

Zawisch. 


And  never  would? 

Ne'er  in  my  life. 


Queen. 

But  he  did  kneel,  before  his  enemy, 
Before  the  man  whom  in  his  heart  he  loathed. 
Who  was  his  vassal  once,  to  whom  he  said, 
"Come  here !"  and  he  obeyed,  and  said  he,  "Go  I" 
He  turned,  and  went  in  haste,  as  he  was  bid. 

Zawisch. 

My  gracious  queen,  'twas  done  by  way  of  jest. 
Such  as  good  friends  indulge  in.    But  to  show 
His  new-fledged  power  the  emperor  desired; 
He  asked  our  king's  aid,  which  was  freely  given. 

Queen. 

But  I  shall  not  be  called  a  vassal's  wife. 
Nor  share  a  meanly  serving  creature's  bed; 
Shall  not,  when  Rudolph  orders  us  to  Vienna, 
In  meekness  hold  the  train  of  Madam's  dress. 
I  shall  not  kneel  before  him,  as  you  did. 

(The  king  jumps  up.) 
Rise  if  you  will,  I  do  not  dread  your  wrath. 
Shall  I  alone,  of  women  or  of  men. 
Stand  trembling  before  Ottokar  the  king? 
Escort  me  hence,  I  seek  my  Hungary, 
Where  safer  is  the  honor  of  a  king. 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      191 

You,  Rosenberg,  give  me  your  arm.     Enough 
Of  the  disgrace  to  which  you  were  a  witness. 
Zawisch  (leading  her  away). 

'Twas  but  a  jest.    We  thought  it  merry  sport. 
We  and  the  emperor,  and  mostly  he. 
A  noble  sight  to  see,  it  was  indeed ! 


{They  depart.) 


OttoJcar. 

Zawisch  1 
Zawisch  (returning). 

Your  pleasure,  sir? 
Ottokar. 

Zawisch   (handing  it  to  him). 


Your  sword! 

Here  *tisl 


Ottokar    (about  to  pierce   him). 

Thou  traitor! 
Queen  (calling  from  within  the  gate). 

Rosenberg ! 
Ottokar. 

Here,  take  thy  sword,  and  go  I 
Zawisch. 

O  many  thanks!    This  is  no  place  to  tarry. 

(He  leaves  and  joins  the  queen,) 
Ottokar. 

Is  this  my  shadow?    There  are  two  kings  now. 

(Trumpets.) 
They  are  approaching.     I  must  seek  concealment. 

(He  wraps  his  cloak  about  him  and  withdraws.) 

(Enter  an  imperial  herald,  with  two  trumpeters.  Behind  them 
the  liberated  Austrian  hostages,  among  them  old  Meren- 
berg.  The  populace  crowds  around  them.  The  chancellor 
argues  with  the  herald.) 

Chancellor. 

In  my  king's  name  do  I  protest  herewith. 


192    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 


Herald  {with  a  document  in  his  hand).  \ 

This  solemn  compact  in  clause  three  declares  j 
All  hostages  are  to  be  freed  forthwith. 
And  by  the  Imperial  Majesty's  command 

Do  I  bespeak  full  freedom  for  these  men  1 

Of  Austria  and  Styria,  subjects  they  ] 

Of  Emperor  Rudolph  and  the  imperial  realm.  l 

And  also  do  I  ask  complete  observance  i 

Of  all  the  stipulations  of  the  peace,  ] 

One  half  of  which  still  disregarded  are.  ] 

Still  lie  Bohemian  troops  in  either  half  i 

Of  Austria,  and  Heinrich  Kuenring,  1 

Your  faithful  champion,  devastates  the  land  \ 

That  lies  beyond  the  Danube's  farther  shore,  I 

By  neighboring  Moravia  still  upheld.  j 

This  shall  not  be,  commands  my  lord  and  master.  \ 

To  end  it  all,  have  I  come  here  from  Prague.  ! 

Chancellor. 

The  king  must  first  be  notified  of  this.         ,  \ 

Herald.  \ 

Why  so?    Is  not  the  emperor  liege  lord  of  all?  '{ 

It  is  agreed  so  in  the  vassals'  oath.  i 

Chancellor. 

The  emperor  himself  has  not  complied  1 

With  all  the  rules  provided  in  the  pact.  I 

Imperial  troops  are  quartered  in  Bohemia.  ] 

Herald.  { 

They  shall  withdraw  as  soon  as  you  obey.  ■ 

Chancellor.  | 

Why  must  Bohemia  be  first  to  yield?  a 

erald.  | 
Luck  follows  him  who  hath — an  old  law  this. 

Chancellor.  i 

You  call  it  law  ?    Force  is  the  name  for  it.  { 

Herald. 

You  choose  the  name,  but  you  must  do  the  thing.  \ 

i 
i 


KONIG  OTTOKAKS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE   193  i 

Chancellor. 

I  have  no  power  to  grant,  nor  to  withhold;  | 

ihe  king,  'tis  rumored,  is  in  Prague.    He  can  ] 

Alone  decide  if  just  be  your  demand.  I 

Herald.  'I 

Take  me  to  see  him  then.  ,  j 

Chancellor.  3 

Not  at  this  time. 
He  is  in  Prague,  but  that  is  all  we  know. 

Herald. 

Then  loudly  let  the  trumpet's  call  resound, 

That  through  the  town  each  citizen  may  learn,  • 

And  Ottokar  himself  be  duly  told :  j 

His  liege  lord  has  a  message  here  for  him,  ' 

Ottohar  {steps  forward,  after  throwing  off  his  cloaJc).  : 

The  king  is  here.    And  what  is  your  request?  ' 

Herald. 

The  freedom  of  these  men,  sir,  is  withheld.  1 

Ottokar.  j 
Who  does  withhold? 

Herald  (pointing  to  the  chancellor).  j 

He!  1 

Chancellor.  { 

Until  you  shall  sanction.  j 

Ottokar.  ^ 
They  were  to  answer  for  their  country's  guilt. 

But  wiped  out  is  the  guilt,  take  back  the  pledges;  I 

Though  'mid  the  men  you  claim  I  see  a  face  \ 
Which  almost  makes  me  rue  what  I  have  said. 

Thy  countenance  conceal,  thou  Merenberg,  ] 

A  traitor  clearly  proven,  not  a  hostage,  : 

The  first  to  point  the  way  to  crime  and  treason  I  j 

Hide  thee !    Within  me  boils  my  very  heart  , 
And  thirsts  to  cool  its  passion  in  thy  blood! 

(Merenherg  steps  hack  behind  two  other  hostages.)  i 


194     GRILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

What  else? 

Herald. 

'Tis  asked  that  you  withdraw  from  Austria, 

Ottohar, 

I  have  withdrawn. 

Herald, 

Not  fully. 

Ottohar. 

It  shall  be! 
The  compact  thus  provides,  then  be  it  so. 

Herald  {proclaiming). 

Whoe'er  has  claim  against  Bohemia's  realm, 

For  right  withheld,  or  damage  done  to  him; 

Who  from  the  German  empire  holds  a  fief, 

Let  him  repair  now  to  the  council  hall, 

Where  shall  in  judgment  sit  the  Palatine, 

Bestowing  title  on  the  rightful  claimant. 

Hail,  hail,  Rudolphus,  Holy  Roman  Emperor ! 
{Exit  herald,  the  people  following  tumultuously.      The  chan- 
cellor alone  remains,) 
OttoJcar. 

They  follow  all.     I  want  to  be  alone. 

You,  then,  are  now  my  court?     O  Ottokar! 

My  very  servants  flee  me  in  contempt. 

Lashed,  bitterly,  and  justly,  by  my  wife, 

Chased  like  a  beast,  from  home  and  couch  expelled! — 

I  cannot  bear  it,  cannot  thus  live  on! 

My  name  struck  from  the  roll  of  reigning  princes, 

A  servitor  to  him  I  used  to  scorn, 

And  my  betrayers,  freed,  depart  with  jeers! 

Hark! 

{In  the  distance  is  heard  the  herald  repeating  his  cry,) 
Hail,  Rudolphus!    Hell  be  his  abode! 

Call  back  the  herald! 


KOMG  OTTOKARS  GLIJCK  UND  ENDE      195  j 

Chancellor.  \ 

O  my  gracious  lord !  \ 
Ottohar. 

The  herald  call,  or,  varlet,  dread  my  wrath!  I 

(Exit  chancellor.) 

Had  it  not  better  been  to  fall  in  battle,  1 

The  last  one  of  my  soldiers  next  to  me?  1 
They  have  betrayed  me,  caught  me  unawares; 

But  now  the  fog  that  held  my  senses  lifts.  j 

I  had  a  dream.    A  cooling  morning  breeze,  I 

Remembrance  comes  and  wakes  me  back  to  life.  \ 

I  led  an  army  to  the  Danube's  shores,  i 

And  then  went  into  camp.     This  I  remember,  i 

All  else  beyond  is  night.    What  further  happened,  % 

How  they  enticed  me  into  Rudolph's  tent,  j 

And  there —     Death  and  perdition!     I  shall  kill,  ^ 

Down  to  the  last,  whoever  saw  the  sight!  j 

Myself  as  well  if  I  cannot  blot  out  \ 

The  memory  of  that  accurs'd  disgrace!  J 

{Re-enter  the  herald  with  the  hostages.    Behind  them  Milota.)  \ 

Herald.  ] 

You've  called  me  back  once  more,  my  gracious  lord  I  i 

Ottolcar.  ^ 

Remember,  first,  that  in  my  name  alone  | 

May  be  proclaimed  whatever  does  concern  \ 

My  town  of  Prague!  \ 

Herald.  \ 

But  yet —  ' 

OttoJcar,  j 

No  more,  I  say!  I 
Let  in  a  row  stand  up  the  hostages. 

That  I  may  see  if,  with  them,  no  one  else  \ 

Escaped  from  prison,  seeking  liberty.  j 

Herald.  \ 

The  empire's  word  seems  ample  guarantee;  | 

Yet,  if  so  be  your  mind,  let  them  stand  up.  | 


196     GKILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

-i 
OttoJcar  (inspecting  the  men  drawn  up  in  a  row). 

You  may  depart,  and  you ! —    You  seem  well  pleased,  i 

Ulrich  von  Lichtenstein !    Do  you  rejoice 

At  being  free  from  duty?    Be  it  so, 

You  never  loved  me,  nor  cared  I  for  you.  ] 

Our  mutual  debt  is  paid.     Depart  in  peace!  j 

But  one  there  is  with  whom  I  must  converse.  | 

God  bless  thee,  Merenberg,  though  rogue  and  traitor  I  i 

Chancellor.  i 

,jj 

Would  he  were  silent,  scorning  contradiction  I  j 

OttoJcar.  'i 

How  fares  thy  son,  that  serves  the  emperor?  1 

An  honest  fellow,  his  sire's  counterpart!  i 

Thou  in  the  nick  of  time  didst  save  thy  son,  1 

Just  as  began  my  fortune 3  to  decline.  1 

When  last  I  saw  him,  I  gave  him  my  pledge  ] 

That  at  an  early  day  he'd  hear  from  me  1 

How  things  were  going  with  me,  and  with  thee.  l 
What  say'st  thou  if  I  send  him  now  this  message: 

That  aged  rogue,  thy  father,  lives  no  more?  \ 

(To  the  herald.) 

No  hostage  is  this  man,  but  a  vile  traitor,  i 

He  cannot  leave  with  all  the  others  there.  | 

Herald.  ] 

Precisely  him  the  emperor  commanded —  ^ 

OttoJcar.  .\ 

Precisely  him  commands  his  lord,  the  king —  j 

(To  Merenberg.)        ] 

The  first  thou  wert,  the  first,  to  set  the  pace,  .• 

Thou  showedst  the  way  to  treason  to  the  rest,  ■ 

Plaints  and  objections  didst  thou  send  to  Frankfort,  \ 

And  chosen  was  my  enemy,  the  Hapsburg!  \ 

Merenberg.  ^ 
Not  plaints! 

i 

OttoJcar.                  Nor  praise.    What  sayest  thou,  good  friend?  I 

When  safe  thy  son  was  in  the  enemy's  camp,  1 


KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLTJCK  UND  ENDE      197 

The  Austrians  quickly  followed  his  example, 
And  on  the  Danube's  shores  I  was  betrayed. 
Their  rightful  lord  deserted  and  betrayed! 
Know'st  thou  where  last  I  set  eyes  on  thy  son? 
At  Tuln  it  was,  in  the  imperial  camp, 
Where  Ottokar,  the  king — why  not  confess? — 
Before  his  enemy — a  servant — in  the  dust — 
O  brain,  cast  out  all  trace  of  memory, 
O  welcome  madness,  haste  to  take  its  place. 
And  in  oblivion  wrap  what  hapi)ened  there! 
Where  Ottokar,  the  king — why  not  confess 
What  all  men  saw? — ^before  his  enemy  knelt. 
And  this  man's  son  was  present,  and  he  laughed! 
And,  therefore,  must  thou  die;  thou  diest,  man! 

Merenherg. 

Almighty  God ! 

Herald, 

Consider,  gracious  lord! 

Ottokar. 

Consider?    Mind  your  hasty  language,  sir! 
Yourself  consider  that  were  you  not  now — 
But  go  in  peace,  and  let  me  do  my  pleasure! 
Still  am  I  ruler  over  this,  my  land ! 


Allegiance  Styria  owes  now  to  the  empire. 

OttoJcar  (to  the  herald). 

He  was  my  vassal  when  he  sinned  against  me, 
And  as  my  vassal  shall  I  punish  him. 
Cast  him  into  the  deepest  dungeon,  and 
Whoe'er  brings  news  that  Merenberg  is  dead 
Shall  find  a  welcome. 

Herald. 

But  the  emperor — 

OttoJcar. 

Sir,  tell  your  emperor : 

He  may  rule  Germany  as  suits  his  taste, 


198     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

I  have  fulfilled  what  I  have  promised  him; 

Although  betrayed,  outwitted,  and  ensnared, 

Whate'er  I  promised,  sacredly  IVe  kept. 

But  in  my  bosom  beats  a  warning  voice, 

A  voice  that  calls :    Take  what  they  stole  from  thee ! 

Thy  honor  save!     The  honor  of  a  king 

Cannot  be  measured  by  a  thousand  lives. 

I  was  outwitted  on  the  Danube's  banks; 

See  thou  if  force  shall  equally  prevail. 

This  tell  him,  sir,  and  tell  him  furthermore: 

Peace  is  established,  and  the  land  is  his. 

I  send  the  hostages,  as  he  desired. 

But  let  him  not  attempt  to  say  one  word 

Here  in  Bohemia  that  displeases  me; 

Let  him  beware  of  meddling  with  my  business. 

Else  I  shall  do  to  him —    No,  rather  say, 

I  bid  him  do  it,  challenge  his  defiance. 

Tell  him  to  lead  his  armies  through  my  land. 

That  I  may  cool  my  flaming  wrath  in  blood. 

My  heart's  blood  quench  my  burning  hatred's  thirst. 

Lie  to  him,  friend,  say  I  reviled  his  name, 

Called  him  usurper  in  a  foreign  land. 

Who  stole  from  me  what  clearly  was  my  own; 

Say  that  I  mocked  the  herald  whom  he  sent. 

Mocked  at  his  man,  and  sentenced  him  to  death. 
Herald, 

You  cannot  do  it! 
Oitohar. 

Cannot?    It  is  done! 
Herald. 

In  virtue  of  this  letter — 
Ottolcar. 

Damned  the  letter! 

Shall  letters,  shall  your  talk  o'ermaster  me? 

I  still  have  swords.    I  still  command  an  army 

Unvanquished.    If  you  conquered,  'twas  by  snares! 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      199 

And  those  I  tear  as  I  this  letter  tear 

Which  foul  intrigue  has  placed  into  your  hand. 

{He  snatches  the  letter  from  the  herald.) 
See  here ! 

(On  the  point  of  tearing  it  he  suddenly  stops.) 
Chancellor, 

Good  God,  what  meditates  he?    My  dear  lord! 
Ottokar, 

Call  here  my  wife,  I  want  to  see  the  queen! 

(Exit  servant.) 
Before  the  world  was  Ottokar  disgraced, 
Before  the  world  must  I  wipe  out  my  shame! 
She  thrust  the  poisoned  arrow  in  my  breast. 
Let  her  be  witness  how  I  draw  it  out. 
Or  else  my  very  vitals  pierce  with  it! 

(Enter  the  queen.) 

Queen. 

Your  wish — 

Ottokar. 

A  while  ago  you  railed  at  me, 
Because  I  yielded,  bloodshed  to  avoid. 
And  my  possessions  with  the  emi)eror  shared. 

Queen. 

Still  do  I  rail  1 

OttoJcar. 

Look  here,  my  hand  here  holds 
The  letter  which  still  binds  me  to  the  emperor. 
I  tear  it,  and  I  tear  with  it  the  tie 
That  binds  me  still;  free  am  I  as  before. 
Shall  I  thus  tear  it? 

Queen. 

Can  a  brave  man  doubt? 

OttoJcar. 

Weigh  well  your  words !    Anew  shall  rage  grim  war. 
Anew  be  steeped  the  land  in  gore  and  fire. 


200    GEILLPAKZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  \ 

i 

And  some  fine  day  it  easily  may  happen  1 

They  bring  you  home  your  husband  on  a  bier.  \ 

Queen,  ^ 

Far  rather  at  your  coffin  would  I  stand  | 

Than  lie  with  you  in  bed,  decked  with  disgrace.  I 

Ottohar.  I 

So  firm  ?    One  gentle  word  were  not  misplaced.  . 

Queen.  1 

Till  you  have  purged  yourself  from  your  disgrace,  j 

Cross  not  the  threshold  of  my  room  as  husband.  4 

{Turns  to  go,)         | 

Ottohar,  1 

Remain!    Look!    Here,  I  tear  the  letter!  \ 

(Tearing  it,) 
My  honor  whole,  and  open  future's  gate. 
What  now  betide,  we  shall  together  bear; 

God  grant  you  part  of  what  awakes  within,  | 

(Pointing  to  his  heart,) 

And  mine  the  strength  be  that  your  bosom  filled!  1 

Queen,  \ 

Now  welcome  to  your  home!  i 

Ottohar.                                              Not  thus,  not  thus  I  1i 

I  see  blood  clinging  to  your  fingers  white,  | 

Blood  still  to  flow !    I  say,  touch  not  my  hand  I  j 

Of  softer  clay  was  woman  made  by  God,  I 

And  Mercy  is  her  name.    What  may  be  thine  ?  : 

Remembrance  wakes  and  tells  a  sorry  tale  ] 
Of  how  you  welcomed  the  returning  king. 

Your  husband,  seeking  refuge  in  his  home.  \ 

Leave  me !    I  feel  my  eyes  are  growing  dim —  \ 

A  sign  that  it  is  time  for  me  to  go.  ^ 

Away!    Leave  me,  I  say!    Away!  \ 

(Exit  the  queen,)         \ 

Ottohar  (to  the  chancellor,  whose  hand  he  has  seized),  \ 

Do  I  seem  harsh?    She  was  not  kind  to  me.  \ 

It  U  but  ^ive  and  t^ke.    God  strikes  the  bftUnoe,  ^ 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      201  \ 

You,  herald,  need  not  tarry  any  longer.  '\ 

Go,  tell  your  lord  what  you  have  witnessed  here.  i 

(Turning  toward  Merenherg.)  I 

For  him  the  dungeon !    What  shall  ward  off  treason  I 

If  not  the  punishment  of  proven  traitors  ?  ' 

Whoe'er  will  build  must  clear  the  ground  of  weeds.  i 

Away,  thou  poison  ivy,  venomed  creeper!  ri 

Merenherg.  \ 

0  thou  rash  king,  revile  me  not  as  traitor!  I 
They  are  the  traitors  who  stand  near  thy  throne,  ] 
The  Rosenbergs —  ; 

Ottokar.  k 

Speaks  malice,  too,  thy  tongue?  ^ 

Merenherg.  j 

Oh,  he  who  holds  me  and  to  prison  leads  ! 

Is  worthier  of  the  prison  than  am  I! 
Ottohar. 

Ne'er  did  Bohemian  betray  his  master!  5 

Fresh  proof  thou  furnishest  now  of  thy  crime! 

Away!    The  dungeon  for  the  slanderer!  ; 
Merenherg   {who  is  heing  led  away). 

Too  late  you'll  rue  it!  i 

OttoJcar.  I 

Off  into  the  dungeon! 

Milota.  I 

And  if  he  can't  be  silent,  stop  his  mouth!  i 

(Exit  Merenherg,  followed  hy  the  herald.)  \ 

Ottohar.  1 

Ne'er  did  Bohemian  betray  his  master. 

And  vainly  spoke  the  slanderer's  biting  tongue !  j 

1  am  about  to  start  upon  a  war. 

To  add  new  glory  to  Bohemia's  might,  j 

And  I  rely  on  you  as  on  myself.  J 

Whoe'er  mistrusts  me  disapproves  my  actions,  ] 

Let  him  withdraw  from  those  who  follow  me,  | 

Free  from  reproach,  from  harm  to  him  and  hig.  ^ 


202     GEILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTKIAN  DBAMA  ^ 

■3 

But  him  who  thinks  like  me,  and  gladly  follows,  i 

I  call  my  brother  and  embrace  as  such.  \ 

The  oath  I  took  when  I  was  crowned  your  king,  I 
When  at  my  father's  solemn  bier  I  stood. 
Once  more  I  utter:     Faithful  unto  death! 

Do  ye  the  same!     The  world  is  full  of  malice.  1 
Eepeat  the  oath  upon  your  monarch's  sword!                                '      ] 

(He  takes  the  sword  from  one  of  the  bystanders;  those  in  front  ; 

kneel  down,)  ^ 
Kneel  not!    Arise!    For  kneeling  do  I  loathe. 

And  do  not  swear!    For  one  may  kneel  and  swear,  ^ 

And  yet  not  keep  the  promise  given  thus.  J 
I  shall  confide  in  you  without  an  oath. 

And  now  to  work !    You  straightway  go  to  Breslau,  ] 

To  see  the  Duke,  and  Prinik,  him  of  Glogau.  J 

Bid  them  to  Prague  to  join  to  ours  their  forces!  j 

You  go  to  Germany;  from  Meissen,  Saxony,  1 
From  Magdeburg,  the  Margrave  with  the  Dart 

Solicit  what  assistance  they  may  grant.  ] 

(To  the  chancellor.)  \ 

You  write  to  all  the  other  lords  and  princes!  I 

We  shall  collect  around  us  such  a  force  i 
As  will  astonish  mightily  the  emperor. 

I  am  still  Ottokar,  as  they  shall  see!  J 

Lend  me  the  power  of  your  trusty  arms,  3 

And  what  you  lost  in  castles  and  estates,  I 
What  I  took  from  you,  adding  to  the  crown, 

I  shall  restore,  and  amply  add  thereto.  "i 
The  Rosenbergs  shall  have  their  Frauenberg 

And  Aussig,  Falkenstein ;  you,  Neuhaus,  Lar ;  | 

You,  Laun,  take  Zierotin,  and  Kruschina  be  Dub's!  j 

Take  your  estates  again,  and  be  rejoiced!  1 

We  shall  be  one,  in  faithful  union  joined.  J 

And,  Milota,  to  you  I  entrust  Moravia;  1 

An  honest  soldier,  you  will  hold  it  true.  1 

(Enter  Zawisch  von  Rosenberg.)  I 


KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      203 

OttoTcar, 

Ah,  welcome  Eosenberg!     God  be  with  you! 

You  doubtless  take  the  field  with  all  the  rest. 

Among  the  foremost  in  my  realm  I  hold  you, 

Above  all  do  I  count  upon  your  help. 
Zawisch. 

Whatever  my  brothers  do,  I,  too,  shall  do! 

Nor  from  the  need  of  all  withhold  my  aid. 

{He  leaves.) 
OttoTcar  {whose  eyes  have  followed  him,  significantly). 

A  shrewd  man  he^  and  one  I  do  not  trust! 

You  suit  me,  Milota,  straightforward,  rude! 

I  well  believe  that  you  know  how  to  hate, 

But  not  deceive.    In  you  I  place  my  trust! 

Sir  chancellor,  have  you  finished? 
Chancellor    {writing). 

Yes,  my  king! 
Ottohar. 

Much  have  we  lost  by  ill-considered  haste. 

Let  caution  now  make  good  our  rashness'  fault. 

Does  such  resolve  appease  thee,  my  good  fellow? 

Chancellor. 

0  king,  chide  rashly  as  you  did  before ! 

1  liked  it  better  than  your  sudden  mildness. 

OttoTcar. 

Write  to  the  captain  in  command  of  Znaim, 
Let  him  a  thousand  men — no,  far  too  many ! 
I  would  not  strip  the  fortress  in  this  way — 
No,  with  five  hundred  let  him  guard  the  border — 
But  then  again  five  hundred  are  too  few. 

{Pointing  to  Milota.) 
True,  is  it  not  ?    Write  rather  that  from  Iglau— 
No,  no ! — I'm  tired.    Two  sleepless  nights  I've  had, 
Nor  have  I  eaten.    Give  me  yonder  bench. 
I  shall  attempt  to  rest  here. 


204     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

Chancellor. 

O  my  king, 
Would  not  your  castle  better — 

Ottohar, 

No,  no,  no! 
But  fetch  my  wife!    She  went  hence  angrily, 
Let  her  sit  near  me,  talk  to  me  a  while. 
Till  gentle  slumber  on  my  lids  descend. 
Do  me  the  favor,  friend,  and  look  for  her! 

{Exit  servant.) 
Ah  me!     How  good  it  is  to  stretch  one's  limbs 
When  one  is  tired!     Go,  look  to  Merenberg! 
The  old  man's  couch  in  prison  must  be  hard! 
Though  scoundrel  he,  yet  must  he  not  be  plagued, 
Give  him  the  prison  that  befits  a  knight. 

(Servant  returns.) 
Comes  now  the  queen? 

Servant. 

She  will  not  come,  my  lord! 
OttoJcar. 

Then  let  her  stay!     You  come,  old  chancellor. 
And  for  my  head  lend  me  your  kindly  lap. 
When  I  have  rested  somewhat  you  shall  see 
That  still  the  former  Ottokar  I  am. 

(Falls  asleep.    Fullenstein  returns.) 

Chancellor, 

The  king  sleeps  there. 

Fullenstein. 

And  soon  sleeps  Merenberg! 
When  he  talked  on,  arraigning  all  the  world, 
A  soldier  rudely  pushed  him  off  the  tower. 
He'll  not  survive  the  fall,  it  is  believed. 

Ottokar  (sitting  up). 

0  Merenberg,  is't  you? 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      205  i 

Chancellor.  j 

He  is  not  here! 

Ottohar.  | 

Methought  he  stood  here!    Sleep,  oh,  only  sleep!  ] 

{He  sinks  hack  and  falls  asleep  again.)  1 

Ottokar's  waning  fortune  is  the  theme  of  talk  between 

Fiillenstein  and  Milota  in  the  opening  scene  of  the  fifth  ] 

act.     Since  the  flight  of  Kunigunde  his  indecision  has  be-  ] 

come  more  and  more  pronounced.    He  is  steadily  retreat-  ] 

ing  before  Rudolph,  but  deceives  himself  into  the  belief  \ 

that  he  is  merely  setting  a  trap  for  the  emperor.  l 

Ottokar.  \ 

I  have  enticed  him  here  into  these  mountains  ] 

By  planning  well-feigned  flight.    If  he  proceeds,  ^ 

My  centre  yields,  both  wings  surround  his  army,  3 

Then,  emperor,  good  night !    You  are  entrapped  ^ 

As  is  a  mouse,  ha,  ha !  I 

(He  breaks  into  hoarse  laughter,  which  terminates  in  a  cough. 

He  rubs  his  hands.)  ■ 

'Tis  cold.    Bring  me  a  cloak!  \ 

The  air  blows  sharp,  the  sun's  about  to  rise.  i 

(A  cloak  is  brought  him.)  j 

Is  this  a  summer  night?     The  fields  still  stubbly,  i 

And  yet  'tis  cold.    It  was  not  always  so. 

'Twas  warm  in  summer,  winter  brought  us  frost. 

Changed  are  the  seasons,  and  we  change  with  them. 

Is  there  no  news  about  the  queen?    Where  is  she? 

Servant.  ] 

It  is  not  known,  my  king !  \ 

Ottokar.  i 

Is  Zawisch  with  her  ? 

Servant.  ] 

Yes,  gracious  lord  I  i 


206     GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

OttoJcar. 

I  hope  to  meet  them  soon! 
Is  day  not  breaking  yet? 
Servant 

Beyond  the  March 
'Tis  getting  lighter,  and  the  morning  nears. 
Ottohar  (jumps  up). 

Welcome,  O  sun,  thy  rays  foretell  my  fate! 
Before  thou  settest  shall  I  know  my  doom. 
If  war  bring  peace,  or  peace  be  in  my  tomb. 

(He  throws  off  his  cloah.) 
Put  out  the  fires,  let  the  trumpets  sound! 
Prepare  for  battle,  our  last  die  is  cast. 
Messenger. 

My  lord,  in  flames  is  Drosing! 
Ottolcar. 

In  my  army's  rear? 
Your  men  stand  there,  Milota ! 
Milota. 

Scattered  bands 
These  are,  of  the  Cumanian  soldiery; 
Nor  do  I  trust  report. 
Ottohar. 

Is  there  no  hill  near  by, 
From  which  to  spy  the  fire's  direction? 
Servant.  % 

There  is  the  bell  tower.  \ 

Ottohar. 

Hasten  to  ascend! 
(A  hnoch  at  the  door  is  heard.) 
Hungarians  there  at  Drosing?     Ah,  by  God! 
The  guilty  man  shall  hang!     Make  haste,  I  say! 
Servant. 

My  lord,  I  am  refused  admittance ! 
Ottohar. 

What,  refused! 


KOOTG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      207 

Servant. 

In  yonder  house  are  women. 
Ottolcar, 

Women?— Fool! 
Sexton  (entering). 

My  lord,  the  servants  of  Bohemia's  queen — 
Ottokar  {seizing  him). 

Bohemia's  queen?     Her  servants?     And  she,  too? 

Ah,  scoundrel!     Is  not  Zawisch  also  there? 

Oh,  they  shall  feel  my  wrath! 

Sexton.  T-  1     J I 

I  pray,  my  lord! 

Ottokar. 

Away! 
Sexton. 

My  lord! 

Ott^^^'''  I  shall  see  for  myself! 

{He  forces  his  way  into  the  tuilding,  followed  hy  the  sexton.) 

Milota. 

If  he  finds  Zawisch  in  the  house,  he's  lost. 
I  must  at  any  cost  attempt  his  rescue. 

{He  enters  the  building,  the  others  retire.  A  small  room 
terminating  in  a  Gothic  arch,  hefore  which  hangs  a  dark 
curtain  descending  to  the  floor.  Ottokar  hursts  into  the 
room  and  is  met  hy  Elizaheth,  who  attempts  to  stop  him.) 

Ottokar. 

Away,  procuress !    Where  are  they  thou  servest  ? 

Elizaheth. 

My  gracious  lord,  O  grant  her  rest  at  last! 

Ottokar. 

Yon  curtain  doubtless  covers  up  a  secret. 

Sweet  darling,  come !    Up,  curtain,  show  thy  sights ! 

{He  tears  the  curtain  aside  and  staggers  hack.  Upon  a  plat- 
form draped  in  hlack,  surrounded  hy  hurning  tapers,  lies  the 
body  of  Queen  Margaret  in  her  coffin,  the  escutcheon  of 
Austria  at  her  feet.) 


208     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

Ottohar. 

She  who  is  here  is  not  Bohemia's  queen. 
Elizabeth. 

She  was! 
Ottohar. 

'Tis  Margaret  of  Austria, 

My  former  wife,  but  kin  of  fourth  degree. 

Therefore  divorced  as  did  ordain  the  Church. 

God  grant  her  lasting  peace! 
Elizabeth. 

Aye,  amen,  amen  I 
Ottohar. 

When  died  she? 
Elizabeth. 

Yestermorn,  my  gracious  lord! 
Ottohar. 

How  came  she  here? 
Elizabeth. 

Chased  from  the  see  of  Krems 

By  soldiers  who  had  strayed  there  from  your  army. 

She  sought  to  reach  the  emperor  at  Marchegg, 

When  death  o'ertook  her. 
Ottohar. 

Why  the  emperor? 
Elizabeth. 

My  lord,  I  cannot  tell,  she  said  not  why. 

But  peace  to  bring  about,  methinks,  she  tried. 
Ottohar. 

Yes,  she  did  try — and  what  did  cause  her  death? 
Elizabeth. 

I  do  believe  they  call  it  broken  heart. 

For  she  cried  day  and  night. 
Ottohar. 

Enough,  enough  I 

But  whither  will  you  go? 


KONIG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      209 
Elizabeth. 

We  shall  await 
The  issue  of  this  war,  whatever  it  be — 
OttoJcar. 

Whate'er  it  be! 
Elizabeth. 

Then  go  to  Lilienfeld, 
In  the  ancestral  tomb  to  bury  her. 
Where  Leopold  of  Babenberg  reposes. 
Her  father — peace  be  to  her  soul! — and  Frederick 
Her  brother,  last  duke  of  that  noble  house. 
OttoJcar. 

Do  so,  and  here  this  ring — 
Milota  (entering). 

The  enemy! 
Ottokar. 

Soon  will  I  join  you!    Go! 

(Exit  Milota.) 
And  here  this  ring 
From  me  deposit  with  her  in  the  tomb. 
Elizabeth. 
O  king! 

OttoJcar. 

And  when  the  war  is  fought  and  o'er. 
And  if  I  live  still,  come  to  me  at  Prague, 
To  be  rewarded  for  your  faithful  service. 
But  I  must  go  I 
Elizabeth  (opening  the  door). 

God  bless  you! 

OttoJcar  (halts  at  the  door). 

Margaret ! 
So  you  are  dead,  and  I  am  not  forgiven ! 
And  thou  hast  left  me,  gentle,  loving  soul, 
A  sense  of  wrong  still  rankling  in  thy  breast! 
Before  the  mighty  judgment  seat  of  God 


210     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  j 

Thou  stand  'st,  accusing  me,  and  call  'st  for  vengeance !  ■ 

O  do  not  so,  my  Margaret,  do  not  so!  \ 

Thou  art  revenged.     What  I  exchanged  for  thee  j 

Has  dropped  from  me  as  leaves  in  autumn  drop.  j 

What  I  had  gathered,  scattered  has  the  wind!  i 

No  blessing  's  mine  that  Heaven  ever  sent,  i 
A  lonely  man  am  I,  bowed  down  by  grief. 

By  no  one  heard,  by  no  one  comforted.  ] 

(He  approaches  the  fcier.),  ^ 

O  they  have  harshly  dealt  with  me,  Margaret!  | 

Ingratitude  has  reared  its  monster  head;  i 

Those  who  were  nearest  me  have  harbored  treason,  I 

Whom  I  had  raised,  conspired  to  cast  me  down.  J 

The  wife  for  whom  I  gave  thy  worth  in  barter  I 

Has  rent  in  twain  the  very  heart  within  me,  J 

And  basely  sold  my  honor  to  my  servant.  \ 

And  when  from  battle  wounded  I  returned,  \ 

Not  balm,  but  poison,  poured  she  in  my  wounds.  | 

With  mock  and  bitter  taunt  she  urged  me  on  1 

Till  blind  I  ran  into  the  ready  net,  \ 

Whose  meshes  hold  me  in  their  fatal  grasp.  j 

(He  kneels  down  at  the  coffin.)  t 

Thou  hast  so  oft  consoled  me;  do  so  now!  i 

Stretch,  Margaret,  forth  thy  icy  hand  and  bless  me,  ^ 

For  I  feel  what  within  me  death  foretells.  o 

To-day  may  ruin  bring  to  Ottokar.  ? 

Give  me  thy  blessing,  as  thyself  art  blest!  l 

(He  buries  his  head  in  the  cushion.)  i 
EUzaheth. 

Methinks  he  prays.    O  pardon  him,  good  Lord!  | 
And  ah,  the  joy  when  she  who  is  no  more 

Meets  him  in  Heaven!     Oft  and  oft  I  told  her  j 

He  would  return.    Now  you  two  are  together.  ] 

Was  I  not  right?  i 

A  Voice  (outside).  l 

Is  here  the  king?  | 


KOXIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      211 

Elizabeth  (calling). 

Hush,  hush! 
He  wants  to  be  alone,  and  must  not  be  disturbed! 

(She  draws  the  curtain  together,) 
For  quarrel  and  for  strife  there's  always  time, 
But  prayer  not  oft  finds  kings  in  ready  mood. 
Again  disturbance!     O  ye  heathen  folk! 

The  sun  rises  upon  the  Marchf eld,  and  Kudolph  points 
out  distant  Vienna  to  his  son,  who  for  the  first  time  enters 
Austrian  soil.  He  gives  instructions  to  his  knights,  and 
invokes  the  divine  blessing  upon  the  arms  of  Austria. 

(Enter  the  queen  and  Zawisch,  behind  them  Bertha,  led  hy 

attendants.) 
Queen. 

I've  come  to  find  a  refuge  in  your  camp. 
Rudol'ph. 

Ask  you  protection  of  your  husband's  foe? 
Queen. 

Because  my  bitterest  foe  my  husband  is. 

He  raves,  and  most  of  all  against  those  nearest. 

And  but  through  flight  escaped  I  with  my  life. 
Rudolph. 

Much  do  you  thus  entrust  to  me,  my  queen! 

For  I  know  wives — and  wives  of  noble  mind — 

Who'd  rather  by  their  husband's  hand  be  slain 

Than  fly  to  him  who  seeks  to  slay  their  spouse. 

But  you  may  safely  wait  within  yon  tents 

Till  clear  the  issue  that  may  bring  you  peace. 

(To  an  attendant.) 

Provide  full  safety  for  this  noble  lady! 
Queen. 

I  thank  your  Majesty.     Come  with  me,  Zawisch! 


(Exit.) 


Rudolph. 

You  stand  not  by  the  colors  of  your  king? 


212     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA  j 

Zmuisch.  i 

The  king  has  grievously  offended  me.  | 

Rudolph.  t 

Offended?    And  do  you  remember  this  j 

Now  that  perhaps  he  goes  to  meet  his  death  ?  | 

Sir,  thank  the  Lord  that  you  are  not  my  subject,  1 

Or  I  should  freely  tell  you  what  I  think!  j 

Go,  seek  your  queen,  whom  you  consider  king!  ] 

(Exit  Zawisch.y       \ 

One  word  ere  calls  the  battle.    I  have  heard  | 

Of  an  agreement  made  among  you  men,  \ 

On  whom  but  recent  knighthood  I  bestowed,  [ 

And  who  feel  grievance  against  Ottokar.  | 

You  men  from  Austrian  lands  especially,  \ 

I  hear,  have  pledged  yourselves  to  seek  the  king  j 

In  battle  and  to  slay  wherever  found.  I 

Void,  as  your  lord,  say  I,  is  such  agreement,  | 

And  each  and  all  forbid  I  to  lay  hand  ^ 

Upon  King  Ottokar  at  any  time,  \ 

Unless  it  be  in  personal  defence.  ] 
{Turning  to  8eyfried  Merenherg,  who  stands  next  to  him.)        \ 

You  understand   me,  sir  ?    And  now  God  speed  you !  j 

{A  part  of  the  battlefield.     OttoTcar  supported  by  an  attendant.        1 

Two  servants  and  Milota  follow.)  \ 

OttoTcar.  ■{ 

Herr  Milota,  your  followers  attack  not!  1 

Where  tarry  your  Moravians?    Plague  upon  them!  1 
I  fear  me  you're  a  rogue,  Herr  Milota! 

And  if  a  rogue  because  I  trusted  you,  ^ 

Then  tenfold  are  you  rogue  and  hundredfold!  1 

My  horse  was  pierced  and  fell;  still  smarts  ^ 

My  leg  which  bore  the  unexpected  weight.  1 
Fetch  me  another  horse,  while  here  I  stay. 

{Exit  servant.)        | 

You,  Milota,  make  haste,  tell  your  Moravians! —  I 

No,  stay !    You  go  and  tell  the  rear-guard  I 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE  213               J 

They  must  attack,  or  else  the  plague  upon  them!  I 

{Exit  second  servant.)  i 

Do  you  dare  face  me,  Milota?    By  God,  \ 
Your  eyes  look  furious.    At  my  foes,  I  trust. 

For  meant  you  me,  sir,  on  your  dying  bed  J 

You  would  yourself  confront  a  Milota  \ 

Whose  stare  would  fix  upon  your  closing  eyes.  ^ 

Mount  yonder  hill,   sir,   ascertain  forthwith  J 

Where's  Fiillenstein,  and  how  the  battle  fares !  \ 

{Exit  Milota.)  I 

And  you,  assist  my  steps  to  yonder  tree.  j 

It  will  support  me  till  a  horse  is  found,  5 

And  give  me  warning  of  the  foe's  approach.  ^ 

{He  reaches  the  tree  and  seizes  one  of  the  low,  dry  branches.) 

There  is  no  heart  in  the  Bohemians'  fight,  I 

They  battle  as  if  forced  against  their  will.  I 

The  Austrians  and  the  Styrians,  1 

Who  grudging  service  rendered  under  me,  ] 

Transformed  into  avenging  angels  are,  j 

Each  one  a  hero  proves  himself  against  me:  j 

The  day  of  reckoning  'tis  for  them  and  me.  j 


Blind  was  I,  and  in  blindness  have  I  sinned; 
Not  consciously  have  I  committed  wrong. 
Yea,  once,  and  still  another  time.    O  God, 
I  consciously  committed  grievous  wrong. 
Not  fear  of  death  makes  me  confess  my  sins. 
Thou,  who  dost  search  the  hearts  of  all  of  us, 
Thou  knowest  that  my  heart  is  free  from  fear  I 
But  if  a  man's  repentance  thou  approv'st. 
Whose  crime  affrights  him,  not  his  punishment, 
Behold  me  kneeling  here  before  thy  throne 
And  hear  me  pray,  as  I  have  learned  to  pray : 
Forgive  my  sins,  be  merciful,  0  Lord  I 


214     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 
(Enter  Seyfried  von  Merenherg,  in  full  armor.) 

Seyfried. 

Ottokar! 
Ottokar. 

Who  calls? 
Seyfried  (still  in  the  background). 

Where  is  my  father? 
OttoJcar. 

Who  are  you?  — Merenberg! 
Seyfried.  ^l,ej.g  ig  jj,y  father? 

Ottohar  (murmuring  in  a  muffled  voice). 

When  asked  the  Lord :  Where  is  thy  brother,  Cain  ? 

He  answered  him:  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper? 
Seyfried. 

I  gave  him  to  you,  I  myself,  in  madness ! 

And  now  I  stand  before  you,  clad  in  armor; 

And  claim  him  back,  and  ask :  Give  me  my  father ! 
Ottokar. 

Well  know  you  where  he  is. 
Seyfried.  ^^U  j^^^^^  j^  ^^  jg  ^^^ 

Ottokar. 

A  traitor's  death  he  died. 
Seyfried. 

A  traitor,  he? 
He  knew  not  that  I  served  the  emperor. 
The  letter  which  he  gave  me  but  bespoke 
Kind  offices  for  her  whom  you  cast  off. 
Ottokar. 

He  is  with  God! 
Seyfried. 

He  is!     Commend  to  Him  your  soul! 
(He  attacks  him  with  his  sword.) 

(Enter  Emerherg.) 
Emerherg. 

Seyfried,  what  darest  thou? 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      215  j 

Seyfried.  ] 

Thou  com'st  in  time! 
Forbidden  has  the  emperor  to  slay  you 

By  armed  might,  but  like  a  basilisk,  1 

I  shall  endeavor  with  my  eyes  to  slay  you.  | 

Look  at  me,  hear  me  call  now :  Merenberg !  | 

The  name  that  hell  shall  call  back:  Merenberg!  j 

Ottohar.  | 

Make  room,  I  must  now  to  my  army!  % 

Seyfried.  ^ 

You  shall  stay! 

I  called  you  teacher,  called  you  my  exemplar,  I 

I  honored  you  as  no  one  I  have  honored,  1 

Earth's  glory  I  entombed  when  you  were  humbled,  | 

Earth's  happiness  when  struck  my  father  was.  - 

Give  back  to  me  my  confidence  in  man,  ^ 

My  father  give  me,  whom  myself  surrendered,  ) 

Myself,  into  your  hand!     Thou  murderer  rash,  ] 

Look  at  me!     See  my  face  is  Merenberg's.  I 

Come,  kill  him  once  more  in  my  countenance!  J 

Ottohar. 

Thy  visor  close,  then  shall  I  give  thee  battle!  i 

Seyfried,  ] 

Not  so,  not  so,  king!     Thou  shalt  fight  the  dead!  ] 

Brave  Ottokar,  why  such  a  coward  now?  I 

(Ottokar's  servant  returns.)  : 

Servant.  \ 

Herr  Milota,  help!     Enemies!     0  help!  \ 

Seyfried  (to  Emerherg).  ] 

Hold  back  that  fellow !    He  must  stand  and  fight,  1 

That  I  may  tell  the  emperor:    My  lord,  1 

I  did  not  slay  him,  he  himself  attacked.  ] 

If  he  attacked,  you  said,  he  might  be  slain!  \ 

(Emerherg  attacks  the  servant.)  | 

Servant. 

Herr  Milota!  \ 


216     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

Emerherg, 

Flee! 

Servant. 

O  my  lord,  my  lord  I 
(He  falls,  wounded,  at  the  feet  of  the  Icing.) 
Ottolcar  (taking  up  his  sword,  which  he  had  laid  down  near  the 
tree). 
Be  it  then! 

(Enter  Milota.) 
Ottolcar. 

Milota,  assist  thy  king! 

Seyfried. 

Art  friend  or  foe  thou? 
Milota. 

Your  foe  not,  indeed! 
Leads  to  Moravia  this  road? 
Ottolcar. 

O  Milota! 

Milota. 

My  brother,  Benesch  Dieditz,  sends  regards. 

He  died  as  one  bereft  of  sense  and  reason. 

My  cousin  Bertha  raves  beside  his  bier. 

Mind  me  not,  sirs!    I  pass.     Good  luck  to  you! 

(He  wraps  himself  in  his  cloak  and  departs.) 
Ottolcar. 

Thou  goest  hence,  and  I  can't  call  thee  knave? 

I  was  thy  master,  thou,  forever  cursed! 

Seyfried. 

Surrender ! 
Ottolcar. 

Not  thus  tak'st  thou  Ottokar ! 
Let  arms  decide  between  us ! 

(He  steps  forward;  his  injured  foot  pains.) 
Bear  me,  foot! 
This  is  no  time  to  smart.    Make  room  for  us! 


KOiSriG  OTTOKAES  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      217 

Emerberg. 

Lost  art  thou!     Look!     Thy  army  is  in  flight! 

{Fleeing  Bohemians  are  seen  in  the  hacJcground.) 
Ottol-ar. 

Thou  liest,  no  Bohemian  flees!    Away! 
Sey fried  and  Emerherg   {interposing  their  swords). 

Stay! 
{Heinrich  von  Lichtenstein,  with  his  troops,  in  pursuit,  hurries 

past,  the  Austrian  hanner  in  his  hand.) 
Lichtenstein. 

The  enemy  flees!    Hail  Austria,  hail! 
Ottohar. 

Stand,  cowards,  stand!    And  you,  make  room  for  me! 
Seyfried. 

Kest  in  thy  tomb ! 
Ottohar  {with  a  sword  thrust). 

This  for  Bohemia! 
Seyfried  {strikes  hach). 

For  Austria  this! 
Ottohar  {strikes  again). 

And  this  for  Ottokar! 
Seyfried. 

And  this  for  Merenberg  and  for  thy  God! 
{He  strikes  him  down.    Ottokar  falls  to  the  ground,  rises  again, 

totters,  and  drops  dead  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.) 
Emerherg. 

What  did'st  thou  do  ?    The  emperor's  law  is  broken ! 

{Seyfried  stands  as  if  transfixed.) 

{Enter  Rudolph  with  his  followers.) 

Rudolph. 

A  truce  to  slaughter !     Spare  the  vanquished  foe ! 
What  happened  here?  Why  art  thou  turned  to  ice? 
What,  prostrate  Ottokar?    And  bleeding— dead ! 
Thou  did'st  it!     Flee,  like  him  who  first  did  kill! 
And  nevermore  let  me  behold  thy  face! 

{Merenberg  flees.) 


218     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

Let  the  Bohemians  homeward  turn  their  steps! 
Proclaim  that  he  for  whom  they  fought  lies  dead ! 

{Elizabeth,  hehind  the  scene.) 
Elizaheth. 

Help,  help! 
Rudolph. 

Who  calls? 

Elizaheth  (appears  and  throws  herself  at  the  emperor's  feet). 

0  gracious  emperor! 

They're  plundering  yonder  house,  and  burning  it. 

And  spare  no  person,  nay,  not  e'en  the  dead! 

O  save  us,  gracious  lord! 
Rudolph. 

You  shall  find  help. 

Who  are  you? 
Elizaheth. 

I'm,  alas !    Queen  Margaret's, 

Of  Austria,  most  faithful  maid  of  honor. 

And  those  men  carry  my  poor  lady's  corpse. 
(Four  men,  accompanied  hy  women  dressed  in  hlach,  bring  in 

the  coffin.) 
Rudolph. 

Behold  the  body  of  your  master  there ! 
Elizaheth. 

Good  Lord,  he  died?     Just  as  he  gentle  turned! 

Poor  master!     Put  the  coffin  over  there. 

Let  them  in  death  at  least  once  more  be  joined! 
{The  coffin  is  placed  at  an  elevation  above  Ottohar's  head.) 

{Enter  the  queen,  behind  her  Zawisch  and  Bertha.) 
Queen. 

The  king,  'tis  rumored,  is  a  prisoner. 
Rudolph. 

Here,  woman,  lies  thy  spouse. 
{The  queen,  overcome  by  emotion,  sinhs  down  on  her  Jcnees. 

Zawisch  remains  standing,  with  bowed  head.) 


KOjSTIG  OTTOKAES  GLiJCK  UND  ENDE  219                i 

Rudolph.  i 

At  his  wife's  feet,  i 

For  she  remained  his  wife,  as  proved  her  death.  J 

Bertha  (on  the  elevation  behind  the  coffin,  on  which  she  leans 
with  her  elbow.    She  knocks  on  the  coffin). 
Open,  Margaret,  your  husband  has  arrived! 

(The  chancellor,  together  with  several  prisoners,  is  brought  in.  ^ 

He  hurries  to  the  spot.)  'i 

Chancellor.  ) 

My  lord,  O  thou,  my  erring,  valiant  lord!  1 

{He  puts  Ottokar's  head  in  his  lap.) 

Rudolph.  j 
Here  liest  thou,  stripped  and  unadorned,  great  king, 

Thy  head  reposing  in  thy  servant's  lap,  i 

And  of  thy  wealth  and  splendor  nought  remains,  I 

Not  e'en  a  lonely  beggar's  coverlet,  i 
To  wrap  thy  body  in,  as  in  a  shroud. 

The  emperor's  mantle,  which  thy  heart  desired,  { 

I  take  from  me  and  spread  here  d'er  thy  corpse,  i 

That  as  an  emperor  thou  may'st  be  buried,  | 
Who  as  a  beggar  didst  this  life  depart. 

Take  him  to  Laa,  and  princely  be  his  bier.  i 

There  may  be  rest  in  his  ancestral  tomb.  ; 

And  God  be  merciful  to  him  and  all  of  us!  \ 

(He  uncovers  his  head  in  silent  prayer,  all  the  others  following  ; 

his  example.  Kunigunde   covers  her  face.     Zawisch  looH                  \ 

fixedly  before  him.)  l 

Bertha  (still  leaning  on  the  coffin  lid).  | 

Forgive  our  sins,  as  others  we  forgive!  J 

Keep  from  temptation  us!  '] 

Rudolph.  i 

Temptation  keep  from  us.  Almighty  Lord!  : 

And  now,  my  son,  before  this  pallid  face,  | 

Before  this  corpse  that  was  in  life  a  king,  ; 

Bestow  I  Austria's  fair  lands  on  thee.  ] 

(He  motions  to  his  two  sons  to  kneel  down.  \ 


220     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Rudolph's  prophetic  forecast  of  the  future  great- 
ness of  Austria,  joined  to  a  solemn  warning  to  his 
sons  to  remember  in  the  days  of  their  glory  the 
fate  of  Ottokar,  closes  "Konig  Ottokars  Gliick  und 
Ende." 

The  ill  fate  which  had  attended  the  drama  from  the 
start  pursued  it  after  its  appearance  on  the  stage.  ^'When 
the  day  of  the  first  performance  finally  arrived/'  wrote 
Grillparzer,  "there  was  a  crush  at  the  Burgtheater  such  as 
has  not  been  seen  there  before  or  since.  Unfortunately,  I 
cannot  claim  that  the  public  intended  to  honor  me  per- 
sonally by  crowding  the  house  in  this  way;  the  truth  is 
that  the  report  that  the  play  had  been  prohibited  by  the 
censor  held  out  the  prospect  of  a  public  scandal.  But 
when  everything  passed  off  most  innocently  and  loyally, 
and  even  the  attempt  to  connect  events  of  long  ago  with 
personages  still  living  proved  unsuccessful,  the  spectators 
found  themselves  partly  disappointed  in  their  expecta- 
tions. There  was  tremendous  applause,  or  rather,  since 
the  crush  made  hand-clapping  impossible,  there  was  im- 
mense cheering  and  stamping ;  but  I  felt  instinctively  that 
the  play  had  failed  to  make  a  really  deep  impression. 
There  was  the  same  applause  at  every  repeated  per- 
formance ;  nevertheless,  it  seemed  as  if  the  play  had  some- 
how miscarried.  Friends  and  acquaintances  avoided  me, 
as  though  dreading  to  talk  about  the  latest  dramatic  event. 
The  worst  critics  were  the  admirers  of  my  ^Sappho' ; 
they  applied  the  same  standards  to  both  plays,  utterly  un- 
mindful of  the  difference  in  the  subjects.  I  finally  kept 
away  purposely  from  the  few  houses  where  I  had  hitherto 
been  in  the  habit  of  visiting,  in  order  not  to  be  compelled 


KONIG  OTTOKARS  GLUCK  UND  ENDE      221 

to  answer  again  and  again  criticism  based  on  entire  igno- 
rance of  the  subject." 

The  drama  was  destined  to  cause  its  author  trouble  of  a 
more  serious  nature.  That  party  spirit  which  is  the  bane 
of  public  life  in  Austria  to-day  was  scarcely  less  fierce  in 
its  manifestations  eighty  years  ago,  and  it  seriously 
affected  the  fate  of  the  play.  The  Czechs  regard  the  career 
of  King  Ottokar  as  the  culmination  of  Bohemia's  national 
glory,  and  Grillparzer's  treatment  of  their  hero  aroused 
their  indignation.  He  received  anonymous  letters  from 
Prague  threatening  his  life,  and  the  poet,  who  was  con- 
scious of  no  ill  will  toward  the  Czechs,  and  had  merely  in- 
tended to  create  an  effective  literary  work,  was  deeply 
wounded.  "I  really  know  no  longer  what  to  do,"  he  wrote 
in  his  diary.  "Whatever  I  undertake  encounters  obstacles. 
Instead  of  meeting  with  recognition,  I  am  held  responsible 
for  the  follies  of  others."  He  was  utterly  disheartened, 
and  despaired  of  ever  writing  another  play.  In  his  dejec- 
tion he  once  more  set  out  on  a  journey.  He  went  to 
Germany,  mainly  to  see  Goethe. 


VIII 


•^ 


GRILLPAEZEK  S  VISIT  IN  WEIMAB 


"The  great  men  of  Germany,"  Grillparzer  writes,  "had 
practically  all  disappeared;  but  one  was  still  living — 
Goethe,  and  the  thought  of  speaking  to  him  or  at  least 
seeing  him  made  me  happy  in  advance.  I  had  never  been, 
according  to  the  fashion  of  those  days,  a  blind  worshipper 
of  Goethe,  or,  for  that  matter,  of  any  other  poet.  Goethe 
had  since  the  death  of  Schiller  turned  from  poetry 
to  science.  In  thus  scattering  his  efforts  in  too  many 
directions,  he  lost  in  effectiveness  throughout;  his  latest 
poetic  productions  were  without  warmth  and  point,  and, 
when  dealing  with  classic  subjects,  full  of  affectation. 
The  lukewarmness  of  feeling  which  he  thus  imparted 
to  the  poets  of  his  day  has  perhaps  been  the  prin- 
cipal factor  in  the  decay  of  poetry,  inasmuch  as  it  opened 
the  door  to  all  the  barbarity  of  Young  Germany,  to 
folk  songs  and  Middle-IIigh-German  nonsense.  !N'ever- 
theless,  Qpethe  is  one  of  the  greatest  poets  of  all  times  and 
the  real  father  of  German  poetry.  Klopstock  gave  the 
first  impulseto  our  poetry,  Lessing  pointed  out  the  right 
road,  Goethe  has  traversed  it.  Schiller  may  possibly  prove 
a  greater  possession  to  the  German  nation;  for  every  na- 
tion needs  powerful  and  irresistible  impressions,  but 
Goethe  seems  to  be  the  greater  poet.  He  has  an  entire 
page  to  himself  in  the  history  of  the  development  of  the 


GEILLPAEZER^S  VISIT  IN  WEIMAR  223 

human  intellect,  while  Schiller  stands  midway  between 
Racine  and  Shakespeare.  Much  as  I  disapproved  of  the 
latest  activity  of  Goethe,  and  little  as  I  hoped  that  he 
would  pay  any  attention  to  the  author  of  the  ^Ahnfrau' 
and  the  ^Goldenes  Vliess,'  I  still  felt  that  the  mere  sight 
of  him  would  infuse  new  courage  into  my  soul.  Dormit 
puer^  non  mortuus  est,'* 

Grillparzer  spent  some  time  in  Dresden  and  Berlin  and 
met  some  of  the  most  distinguished  literary  men  of  Ger- 
many, among  them  Tieck,  Fouque,  Chamisso,  and  Varn- 
hagen.  He  was  most  of  all  impressed  by  Varnhagen's 
wife,  the  brilliant  Rahel.  Grillparzer,  who  was  never  par- 
tial to  literary  women,  writes  about  her  as  follows : 

"Varnhagen  accompanied  me  home.  As  we  were  pass- 
ing his  house,  he  said  that  he  would  like  to  make  me 
acquainted  with  his  wife — afterwards  famous  as  Rahel — 
whom  at  that  time  I  had  scarcely  heard  of.  I  had  wan- 
dered around  all  day  and  was  utterly  exhausted.  I  was 
therefore  very  glad  when  we  were  informed  at  the  door  that 
the  Frau  Legationsrathin  was  not  at  home.  But  as  we 
descended  the  stairs,  she  met  us,  and  my  fate  was  sealed. 
The  more  than  middle-aged  lady,  bent  by  illness,  who  had 
probably  never  been  pretty,  in  appearance  somewhat  like 
a  supernatural  being,  not  to  say  a  witch,  began  to  speak, 
and  I  was  spellbound.  My  fatigue  vanished  instantly,  or 
rather  gave  way  to  a  sort  of  intoxication.  She  talked  on 
until  midnight,  and  I  do  not  recollect  whether  I  was  finally 
told  to  go  or  went  of  my  own  accord.  I  have  never  heard 
anybody  talk  better  and  more  interestingly." 

Berlin,  on  the  whole,  he  did  not  find  altogether  to  his 
liking,  although  he  was  everywhere  received  with  the  con- 


224    GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

sideration  due  to  his  fame  as  a  poet.  "There  was  no  lack 
of  opportunity  to  become  acquainted  with  those  in  high 
station.  An  effort  was  made  to  have  me  attend  the  teas 
given  bj  one  of  the  ministers — Herr  Stagemann,  I  believe 
— but  I  declined,  as  I  am  not  fond  either  of  tea  or  of  min- 
isters. I  was  so  often  asked  to  call  on  Prince  Wittgen- 
stein, then  at  the  head  of  the  theatres,  that  I  am  inclined  to 
think  there  was  an  intention  of  offering  me  a  post  in  con- 
nection with  the  royal  theatres.  But  I  kept  away  from 
him,  for  while,  as  a  rule,  I  am  very  willing  to  court  the 
theatre,  it  is  a  charmer  I  do  not  dream  of  marrying.  And, 
moreover,  much  as  I  admire  Berlin,  it  could  never  have 
replaced  Vienna  in  my  affections.  Aside  from  the  natural 
beauties  which  surround  the  Austrian  Kaiserstadt,  Berlin 
has  too  much  culture,  just  as  Vienna  has  too  little.  And 
German  culture  has  this  peculiar  characteristic,  that  it  is 
too  often  dissociated  from  sound  judgment  and  natural 
sentiment.  Furthermore,  the  unanimity  of  all  literary 
opinions  was  distasteful  to  me.  I  have  often  felt  a  genuine 
pleasure  in  Vienna  when  some  one  told  me  that  he  found 
Goethe  dull  or  Shakespeare  uncouth;  not  that  I  agreed 
with  him,  but  it  was  pleasant  to  me  not  to  be  sure  of  the 
answer  the  moment  I  asked  the  question.  In  France,  it  is 
true,  there  exists,  or  existed  until  recently,  the  same 
unanimity;  but  in  that  country  it  proceeds  from  the 
national  character,  and  answers,  as  it  were,  a  normal  need ; 
while  in  Germany  the  opinions  of  literary  coteries  are 
forced  upon  the  nation  against  its  natural  sentiment,  as  is 
apparent  by  the  everlasting  changes  in  these  opinions." 

The  nearer  Grillparzer  approached  Weimar,  the  heavier 
grew  his  heart,  much  as  he  wished  to  see  Goethe.     "My 


GEILLPARZER^S  VISIT  IN  WEIMAR  225 

opinion  of  my  abilities,  never  very  great,  shrank  step  by 
step."  On  his  arrival  he  secured  a  room  at  the  "Elephant," 
an  inn  known  throughout  Germany,  "the  vestibule,  as  it 
were,  to  Weimar's  Walhalla  of  living  celebrities.  I  sent  a 
waiter  to  Goethe  with  my  card,  asking  whether  I  might  be 
permitted  to  call  on  him.  The  waiter  returned  with  the 
answer  that  the  privy  councillor  was  entertaining  guests  at 
his  house,  and  could  not  see  me  just  then ;  but  that  he  ex- 
pected me  to  tea  in  the  evening.  I  dined  at  the  inn.  My 
card  had  made  my  name  public;  the  fact  of  my  arrival 
spread  through  the  to^vn,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  callers. 
"Toward  evening  I  went  to  Goethe's  house.  I  found  in 
the  parlor  a  good  deal  of  company,  all  waiting  for  the  privy 
councillor,  who  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance.  Among 
the  persons  assembled  were  the  guests  whom  Goethe  had 
invited  that  day  for  dinner:  Councillor  Jacob  or  Jacobs, 
with  his  young  and  beautiful  daughter,  as  cultured  as  she 
was  beautiful,  the  same  who  afterwards,  under  the  name 
of  Talvj,  acquired  literary  fame.  In  talking  with  that 
charming  girl,  my  embarrassment  rapidly  disappeared, 
and  I  almost  forgot  that  I  was  in  Goethe's  house.  Finally 
a  side-door  opened,  and  he  entered.  Dressed  in  black,  with 
the  decoration  of  a  star  on  his  breast,  erect  and  almost  stiff, 
he  stepped  among  us,  like  a  monarch  about  to  give  audience. 
He  talked  a  few  words  to  several  of  the  guests  and  finally 
came  to  me,  who  was  standing  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  room.  He  asked  me  whether  Italian  literature  was 
much  studied  in  Austria.  I  answered,  as  was  the  case, 
that  the  study  of  the  Italian  language  was  very  common, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  compulsory  for  all  government  em- 
ployees.    I  added,  however,  that  Italian  literature  was 


/ 


226     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

completely  neglected,  and  that  it  was  the  fashion  to  turn 
rather  to  English  literature,  which,  with  all  its  excellences, 
had  an  admixture  of  coarseness  by  no  means  beneficial,  in 
my  opinion,  to  the  present  state  of  German  culture,  more 
particularly  to  poetry.  Whether  he  liked  this  remark  or 
not,  I  cannot  tell,  but  he  probably  did  not,  as  he  was  just 
at  that  time  in  correspondence  with  Lord  Byron.  He  left 
me,  spoke  to  others,  came  back  to  me,  talked  about  some- 
thing I  cannot  now  recall,  left  me  again,  and  soon  the 
company  departed. 

"I  must  confess  that  I  returned  to  my  hotel  with  a  most 
unpleasant  impression.  "Not  that  my  vanity  had  been 
wounded;  on  the  contrary,  Goethe  had  treated  me  more 
politely  and  with  more  attention  than  I  had  expected. 
But  to  see  the  ideal  of  my  youth,  the  poet  of  Taust,' 
'Clavigo'  and  ^Egmont'  as  the  stiff  minister  of  state,  who 
treated  his  guests  with  cold  ceremoniousness,  was  indeed 
a  rude  awakening  from  my  dreams.  Had  he  insulted  me 
and  thrown  me  out-of-doors,  I  should  perhaps  have  been 
better  pleased.    I  was  almost  sorry  I  had  come  to  Weimar. 

"I  concluded  to  devote  the  following  day  to  seeing  the 
sights  of  Weimar,  and  gave  orders  at  the  hotel  for  the 
post-chaise  to  be  ready  the  day  after.  The  next  forenoon 
visitors  of  all  sorts  arrived,  among  them  Chancellor  Miiller, 
a  courteous  and  worthy  man,  and,  first  and  foremost,  my 
countryman  Hummel,  for  the  past  few  years  musical  di- 
rector at  Weimar.  He  had  left  Vienna  before  my  dramatic 
productions  had  begun  to  attract  attention,  and  we  had 
never  met  before.  It  was  almost  touching  to  see  with 
what  joy  this  person,  who  in  his  general  intercourse  was 
undemonstrative  to  the  point  of  dryness,  greeted  me.    He 


GRILLPARZER  AT  THE  AGE  OF 
THIRTY-TWO 


GRILLPARZER'S  VISIT  IN  WEIMAR  227 

may  partially  have  been  moved  by  the  recollection  of  his 
native  city,  which  he  had  left  with  a  heavy  heart,  or  possi- 
bly it  may  have  been  the  pleasure  of  finding  that  Weimar, 
where  he  usually  heard  only  disparaging  judgments  of  the 
Austrian  intellect,  could  appreciate  and  honor  one  of  his 
literary  compatriots.  And  then  he  had  at  last  an  oppor- 
tunity of  talking  Viennese  with  a  person  from  Vienna — a 
dialect  which,  surrounded  as  he  was  by  those  who  were 
strangers  to  it,  he  had  retained  in  all  its  purity.  Perhaps 
it  was  on  account  of  this  contrast  that  I  thought  I  had 
never  heard  such  poor  German  spoken  in  all  my  life. 
While  we  were  planning  to  see  some  of  the  sights  of 
Weimar,  and  just  as  Chancellor  Miiller,  who  may  have 
noticed  that  I  was  rather  depressed,  assured  me  that 
Goethe's  stiffness  was  entirely  due  to  the  embarrassment 
which  he  himself  always  experienced  on  meeting  strangers 
for  the  first  time,  a  waiter  entered  with  a  card  from 
Goethe  inviting  me  to  take  dinner  with  him  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  I  was  therefore  compelled  to  prolong  my 
stay,  and  recalled  my  order  to  get  the  horses  ready  for 
the  morrow.  I  spent  the  forenoon  in  visiting  places  con- 
nected with  the  literary  celebrities  of  the  town.  I  was 
chiefly  interested  in  Schiller's  house,  above  all  in  the  poet's 
study,  an  attic  room  on  the  second  floor,  where  an  old  man, 
who  is  said  to  have  been  prompter  at  the  theatre  in 
Schiller's  time,  was  teaching  a  little  boy,  Schiller's  grand- 
son, how  to  read.  The  frank,  intellectual  countenance  of 
the  boy  made  one  cherish  the  illusion  that  perhaps  another 
Schiller  might  some  day  emanate  from  that  study — a  hope 
which,  however,  was  not  destined  to  be  realized. 

"In  the  evening  I  went  with  Chancellor  Miiller  to  the 


228     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

theatre,  where  an  indifferent  play  was  performed,  with 
Graff  in  the  cast,  who  was  Schiller's  first  Wallenstein.  I 
found  him  in  no  way  remarkable,  and  when  I  was  told 
that  after  that  first  performance  Schiller  rushed  to  the 
stage,  embraced  Graff  and  exclaimed :  ^ISTow  I  understand 
my  own  Wallenstein!'  I  could  not  help  thinking  how 
much  greater  the  great  poet  would  have  been  had  he  found 
a  real  public  and  real  actors. 

"At  last  came  the  fateful  day  and  the  dinner-hour,  and  I 
went  to  Goethe's  house.  The  other  invited  guests  were 
already  assembled ;  there  were  none  but  men  present,  as  the 
amiable  Talvj  and  her  father  had  taken  their  departure 
the  day  after  that  evening  party.  Goethe's  daughter-in- 
law  was  not  in  Weimar  at  that  time,  nor  was  her  daughter, 
she  who  was  destined  to  die  so  young.  Both  became  subse- 
quently much  endeared  to  me.  When  I  entered  the  room, 
Goethe  stepped  forward  to  meet  me,  and  he  was  as  pleas- 
ant and  warm-hearted  as  he  had  previously  been  stiff  and 
cold.  My  heart  began  to  soften.  And  when  dinner  was 
ready,  and  the  man  who  was  to  me  the  embodiment  of  Ger- 
man poetry  —  who  at  a  distance,  in  his  immeasurable 
superiority,  had  become  in  my  eyes  almost  a  legendary 
being — ^took  my  hand  to  conduct  me  into  the  dining- 
room,  the  boyish  element  in  my  nature  overpowered  me 
and  I  burst  into  tears.  Goethe  tried  hard  to  cover  up  this 
exhibition  of  weakness.  I  sat  next  to  him  at  the  table,  and 
he  was,  as  the  guests  afterwards  told  me,  gayer  and  more 
talkative  than  he  had  been  in  a  long  time.  The  conversa- 
tion, to  which  he  gave  tone  and  animation,  became  general. 
IsTow  and  then  he  would  direct  his  remarks  to  me  in  par- 
ticular.   What  he  talked  about,  however,  barring  a  good 


GRILLPARZEE^S  VISIT  IN  WEIMAR  229 

joke  about  Miillner's  'Mitternachtsblatt/  I  do  not  recollect. 
Unfortunately,  I  did  not  write  down  my  impressions  of 
this  visit  at  the  time.  ...  I  remember  only  a  very  charac- 
teristic incident  which  occurred  at  the  table.  In  the  heat  of 
discussion  I  plucked,  as  is  an  old  habit  of  mine,  at  the 
piece  of  bread  lying  next  to  me,  causing  an  accumulation 
of  crumbs.  Goethe  gently  put  his  finger  on  each  one  and 
made  an  orderly  little  heap  of  them.  I  noticed  this  only 
after  some  time,  and  then  stopped. 

''When  I  took  leave  of  Goethe  he  asked  me  to  call  the 
next  forenoon,  in  order  to  have  my  crayon  portrait  taken. 
It  was  his  habit  to  have  such  portraits  made,  by  a  special 
artist,  of  all  visitors  who  interested  him.  These  drawings 
were  put  into  a  frame,  which  hung  for  this  purpose  in  the 
visitors'  room,  and  were  changed  every  week  in  due  rota- 
tion.    I,  too,  enjoyed  this  honor. 

"When  I  made  my  appearance  in  the  forenoon  the  artist 
had  not  yet  arrived.  I  was  therefore  told  to  join  Goethe, 
who  was  walking  up  and  down  in  his  little  garden.  I 
now  saw  the  reason  for  his  stiff  attitude  in  the  presence  of 
strangers.  Old  age  was  beginning  to  tell  on  him.  As  he 
paced  to  and  fro,  it  was  quite  noticeable  that  the  upper 
part  of  his  body,  especially  his  head  and  neck,  bent  for- 
ward. He  was  anxious  to  conceal  this  from  strangers, 
hence  his  forcedly  stiff  bearing,  which  produced  a  disagree- 
able impression.  There  was  something  indescribably 
touching  in  the  way  he  appeared  now,  clad  in  a  long  loose 
coat,  a  little  brimmed  cap  upon  his  white  hair.  He  looked 
half  a  king,  half  a  patriarch.  We  talked  while  walking 
back  and  forth.  He  mentioned  my  'Sappho,'  which  he 
seemed  to  like — a  species  of  self-praise,  as  it  were,  for  had 


230     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

I  not  worked  with  his  tools  ?  When  I  complained  of  my 
solitary  position  in  Vienna,  he  said — what  he  has  since 
expressed  in  print — that  a  man  can  do  his  work  only  in 
the  society  of  his  equals  or  of  those  who  have  at  least  simi- 
lar tastes.  If  he  and  Schiller  accomplished  what  the 
world  gave  them  credit  for,  it  was  largely  because  of  their 
interaction,  so  stimulating  and  mutually  helpful.  While 
we  were  talking,  the  artist  arrived.  We  went  into  the 
house  and  he  began  to  sketch  me.  Goethe  had  gone  into 
his  room,  out  of  which  he  stepped  from  time  to  time,  to 
see  how  the  portrait  progressed.  He  was  well  satisfied 
with  it  after  its  completion.  After  the  painter  left, 
Goethe  had  his  son  bring  in  some  choice  specimens  of  his 
varied  treasures.  There  was  his  correspondence  with 
Lord  Byron;  everything  relating  to  his  meeting  with  the 
empress  and  the  emperor  of  Austria  in  Carlsbad,  and 
finally  the  Imperial  Austrian  patent  prohibiting  the  re- 
print of  his  collected  works.  He  seemed  to  take  especial 
pride  in  the  last-named  object,  either  because  he  approved 
of  the  conservative  attitude  of  Austria  or  else  because  he 
looked  upon  the  imperial  license  granted  him  as  a  curios- 
ity, in  view  of  what  usually  happened  in  the  literary  world 
of  Austria.  All  these  treasures  were,  in  semi-Oriental 
fashion,  wrapped  each  in  a  silken  cloth,  and  Goethe  evi- 
dently regarded  them  with  a  sort  of  reverence.  He  finally 
took  leave  of  me  in  the  kindest  possible  manner. 

"In  the  course  of  the  day  Chancellor  Miiller  asked  me  to 
visit  Goethe  again  toward  evening.  He  said  I  would  find 
him  alone,  and  that  he  would  by  no  means  be  displeased  to 
see  me.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  until  later  that  Miiller 
could  not  have  said  all  this  without  Goethe's  knowledge. 


GRILLPAEZER'S  VISIT  m  WEIMAR  231 

"And  now  I  committed  my  second  Weimar  folly.  I  was 
afraid  to  spend  an  entire  evening  alone  with  Goethe,  and 
after  considerable  doubt  and  vacillation  did  not  go  to  his 
house.  There  were  several  reasons  for  my  fear.  First  of 
all  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  nothing  to  talk  about  that 
would  interest  Goethe.  My  own  works  I  learned  to  appre- 
ciate only  later  on,  in  comparison  with  those  of  my  con- 
temporaries ;  as  measured  by  the  standard  of  what  preceded 
them,  particularly  here,  in  the  home  of  German  poetry, 
my  productions  appeared  to  me  exceedingly  crude  and  in- 
significant. Moreover,  I  have  said  that  I  had  left  Vienna 
with  a  feeling  that  my  poetic  talent  was  utterly  exhausted 
— a  feeling  which  increased  in  Weimar  to  the  point  of 
actual  dejection.  It  therefore  seemed  to  me  rather  con- 
temptible to  indulge  in  jeremiads  in  the  presence  of 
Goethe,  and  to  be  obliged  to  accept  his  empty  consolations. 

"In  all  this  nonsense  there  was  nevertheless  a  grain  of 
sense.  I  was  aware  of  the  aversion  Goethe  then  felt 
toward  everything  violent  and  forced.  It  seemed  to  me, 
however,  that  repose  and  moderation  were  suited  only  to 
one  capable  of  creating  such  stupendous  works  as  'Iphi- 
genie'  and  ^Tasso' ;  but  that  it  was  incumbent  upon  every- 
body to  bring  out  those  qualities  in  which  lay  his  real 
strength.  These  qualities  were  in  my  case  warmth  of 
sentiment,  feeling,  and  power  of  imagination.  Looking 
at  matters  impartially,  I  felt  far  too  weak  to  defend  myself 
against  him,  while  giving  my  reasons  for  dissenting  from 
his  own  views;  at  the  same  time  my  veneration  for  him 
was  far  too  great  to  permit  me  to  listen  to  his  opinions 
either  with  pretended  approval  or  in  deceitful  silence. 

"Be  this  as  it  may,  the  fact  is  that  I  did  Dot  pay  the 


232     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAIST  DEAMA 

visit,  and  that  Goethe  was  displeased.  He  may  well  have 
been  surprised  that  I  neglected,  with  such  apparent  indif- 
ference, the  opportunity  of  getting  light  on  my  produc- 
tions as  well  as  on  myself.  Possibly  he  had  an  inkling  of 
the  truth — namely,  that  in  the  author  of  the  ^Ahnfrau' there 
still  lingered  a  predilection  for  similar  poetic  outbursts, 
so  utterly  distasteful  to  him.  He  may  also  have  divined 
my  frame  of  mind  and  come  to  the  conclusion  that  un- 
manliness  of  character  was  bound  to  ruin  even  a  great 
talent.  He  certainly  was  from  that  time  on  much  cooler 
toward  me. 

"As  regards  what  I  call  unmanliness,  I  have  to  own,  as 
I  have  owned  before,  to  a  certain  weakness  when  con- 
fronted with  petty  or  difficult  circumstances,  especially 
such  as  have  called  for  the  display  of  charity,  reverence, 
and  gratitude.  Whatever  was  repugnant  to  me,  or  ap- 
peared to  me  positively  bad,  I  have  always  rejected^out- 
right ;  and  in  remaining  true  to  my  convictions,  I  have  ever 
shown  a  firmness  amounting  to  obstinacy;  but,  speaking 
generally,  it  is  true  enough  that  only  from  the  union  of 
character  and  talent  proceeds  what  is  called  genius. 

"While  in  Weimar  I  was  summoned  to  meet  the  Grand 
Duke,  whom  I  found  at  the  so-called  Roman  House,  and 
who  was  as  simple  and  natural  as  he  is  always  described. 
He  talked  with  me  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  seemed  to 
be  interested  in  my  account  of  Austrian  conditions. 
INot  he,  but  most  of  the  others,  let  me  see  that  it  was 
their  desire  to  capture  me  for  the  Weimar  theatre — a  de- 
sire which  did  not  suit  my  own  inclinations. 

"When,  on  the  fourth  day  of  my  stay,  I  took  leave  of 
Goethe,  he  was  friendly,  but  considerably  more  reserved. 


GEILLPARZER'S  VISIT  IN  WEIMAR  233 

He  was  surprised  to  hear  that  I  intended  to  leave  Weimar 
so  soon,  and  added  that  thej  would  all  be  glad  to  hear  from 
me.  It  was  then  ^they/  in  the  plural,  not  he.  And  he 
subsequently  never  did  me  justice,  considering  that,  all 
in  all — in  spite  of  the  difference  in  degree — I  may  con- 
sider myself  the  foremost  writer  that  has  appeared  since 
his  day  and  Schiller's.  But  I  need  not  say  that  all  this 
did  not  diminish  my  love  and  respect  for  him." 

In  reality  Goethe  was  very  favorably  impressed  with 
Grillparzer,  and  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  Zelter  he  spoke 
of  his  "undoubted  poetic  talent."  Refreshed  and  stimu- 
lated by  his  journey,  Grillparzer  returned  to  Vienna  re- 
solved to  begin  at  once  work  on  another  drama,  which,  in- 
stead of  entering  upon  "a  wearisome  correspondence"  with 
him,  he  intended  to  dedicate  to  Goethe.  Perhaps  for  the 
only  time  in  his  life  he  was  full  of  energy.  "I  had  outlined 
a  number  of  plots,  all  thought  out,  and  finished  as  to  con- 
struction, even  down  to  details,  although  nothing  had  as 
yet  been  committed  to  paper.  I  was  to  take  up  these  plots 
consecutively,  write  each  year  a  play,  and  abandon  for- 
ever my  hypochondriacal  musing." 


IX 


EIN  TKEUER  DIEISTER  SEINES  HEEEN 

Geillpaezee  naturally  selected  for  his  next  drama  a 
plot  which  was  less  likely  to  meet  with  obstacles  on  the 
part  of  the  censor  than  his  last.  Asked  by  the  court  to  pro- 
duce a  play  for  the  coronation  of  the  Empress  Caroline 
Augusta  of  Austria  as  queen  of  Hungary,  in  September, 
1825,  he  bethought  himself  of  an  incident  in  the  life  of 
Bankban,  a  military  governor  during  the  reign  of  the 
Hungarian  king  Andrew  II.,  in  the  thirteenth  century. 
Bankban's  wife  was  seduced  by  the  queen's  brother,  and 
a  revolt  ensued.  The  Himgarian  dramatist  Katona  had 
written  in  1816  a  drama  founded  on  this  incident,  and 
there  exists  an  old  German  play,  by  the  poet-cobbler  Hans 
Sachs,  on  the  same  subject.  Grillparzer  departed  widely 
from  both  his  predecessors  in  planning  his  work.  Katona's 
main  object  was  to  depict  the  struggles  between  Magyars 
and  Germans.  These  play  but  an  insignificant  part  in 
Grillparzer's  tragedy,  whose  main  purpose  is  the  exaltation 
of  loyalty,  of  absolute  devotion  to  duty.  In  the  two  older 
plays  the  governor  kills  the  queen,  who  has  connived  at 
the  misdeeds  of  her  brother.  In  Grillparzer's  play  her 
guilt  is  lessened,  and  she  falls  a  victim  to  an  acci- 
dent. Bankban's  character  is  completely  transformed  and 
assumes  heroic  proportions.  There  is  a  certain  resem- 
blance between  the  Bankban  of  Grillparzer  and  Lamberto, 


EIN  TEEUER  DIENER  SEINES  HERRN      235 

the  hero  of  Lope  de  Vega's  "Grandduke  of  Moscow." 
Lamberto  carries  his  devotion  to  his  prince  even  to  the 
point  of  willingly  sacrificing  to  him  his  own  son;  but 
Bankban's  sense  of  duty  is  dramatically  much  more 
effective. 

Although  Grillparzer  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his 
subject  was  unsuited  to  the  occasion,  he  finished  the  play. 
It  was  performed  on  the  28th  of  February,  1828,  under 
the  title  of  ^^Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn"  (A  Faith- 
ful Servant  of  his  Master),  and  met  with  an  enthusiastic 
reception.  But  again  ill-luck  pursued  him.  The  day  after 
the  first  performance,  the  president  of  the  police,  Count 
Sedlnitzky,  sent  for  him  and  told  him,  with  some  embar- 
rassment, that  the  emperor  had  enjoyed  the  play  so  much 
that  he  wished  to  become  exclusive  owner  of  the  manu- 
script. His  Majesty  was  willing  to  compensate  him  for 
any  pecuniary  loss  resulting  from  the  withdrawal  of  the 
work  from  the  stage.  Grillparzer  replied  without  hesita- 
tion that  he  was  not  contemptible  enough  to  allow  his  play 
to  vanish  from  the  earth  for  any  pecuniary  inducement. 
The  result  of  the  interview*  was  that  the  play,  after  a  few 
performances,  was  withdrawn  from  the  Burgtheater,  not  to 
be  revived  until  thirty  years  later. 

"Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn"  is  in  some  respects 
perhaps  the  most  remarkable  of  Grillparzer's  dramas. 
'No  other  bears  so  distinct  an  impress  of  his  personality; 

*There  is  on  record  a  letter  of  Grillparzer's  written  to  Count  Sedl- 
nitzky after  their  interview,  in  which  the  poet,  doubtless  thinking 
it  prudent  to  soften  the  asperity  of  his  spoken  refusal,  named,  under 
protest,  what  he  thought  a  prohibitory  price  for  the  withdrawal  of 
the  play — 3000  florins  (probably  in  paper  money,  or  about  $600). 
The  letter  was  never  answered. 


v.-^ 


236     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

none  affords  so  clear  an  insight  into  his  moral  nature. 
There  was  much  in  it  to  make  it  appear  revolutionary  in 
the  eyes  of  the  emperor,  while  the  critics  denounced  it  as 
the  apotheosis  of  servility. 

Bankban,  like  Kent  in  "King  Lear/'  "serves  him  truly 
I  that  will  put  him  in  trust/'  but  his  attachment  is  far 
f  nobler,  for  it  is  impersonal.  He  serves  the  state,  and  his 
highest  duty  is  faithfulness  to  his  sacred  trust.  An  old 
man  of  sixty,  he  has  promised  his  king,  who  leaves  Hun- 
gary, in  order  to  quell  a  rebellion  in  Galicia,  to  be  a  true 
adviser  to  the  queen,  watch  over  her  and  her  infant  son, 
and  preserve  peace  in.  the  land.  The  king  holds  out  no  re- 
ward to  him,  but  says : 

.    .    .  If  I  return 

And  find  my  country's  peaceful  state  disturbed, 

I  shall  not  punish  thee,  but  merely  shun. 

And  when  thou  diest  may  thy  grave  proclaim: 

"Age  bent  his  frame,  but  could  not  tame  his  will. 

He  was  a  Magyar  and  forgot  his  trust. 

He  was  a  man  and  did  not  keep  his  oath" — 

But  that  shall  never  be,  I  know,  I  know. 

Bankban,  simple,  pedantic,  quaint  in  speech  and  manner, 
full  of  fatherly  affection  for  his  young  wife,  is  at  once  a 
type  of  Austrian  officialdom  and  the  personification  of 
Kant's  categorical  imperative.  He  has  the  nobility,  but 
not  the  wisdom,  of  Lessing's  Nathan.  His  conception  of 
duty,  however,  which  implies  the  complete  conquest  of  self, 
and  which  only  a  shortsighted  criticism  could  mistake  for 
servile  self-obliteration,  is  perhaps  the  highest  depicted  in 
literature. 

Bankban  reposes  absolute  confidence  in  his  wife,  Erny, 


EIN  TREUEE  DIENER  SEIN^ES  HERRN"      237 

and  she  returns  his  affection  as  one  who  looks  up  to  him 
as  "man,  father,  husband."  Opposed  to  the  heroic  sim- 
plicity of  the  Palatine  Bankban  is  the  profligate  character 
of  Duke  Otto  von  Meran,  the  queen's  brother,  who  pursues 
Ernj  in  mad  lust — half  passion,  half  revengeful  desire  to 
humble  her  pride.  The  subtlest  traits  reveal  to  us  at  the 
very  opening  of  the  play  the  disparity  of  temperament,  as 
well  as  of  age,  between  Bankban  and  Erny. 

The  scene  is  a  drawing-room  in  Bankban's  house,  with 
high-arched  windows  and  unpretentious  mediaeval  furni- 
ture. It  is  before  the  dawn  of  day,  and  there  are  lights 
upon  the  table.  Bankban  stands  near  the  table;  two  ser- 
vants are  busy  dressing  him.  One  holds  his  cloak,  the 
other,  kneeling,  fastens  on  his  spurs. 

(From  the  street  resounds,  amid  laughter  and  handclapping,  a 

ioud  cry.) 

Bankban !    Ho,  Bankban ! 
Banhhan. 

The  spur  here  pinches! 
Servant, 

O,  my  lord! 

BanTcban. 

What  folly! 

Go,  fasten  it  still  tighter !    Stop !    Hold  back ! 
Servant. 

I  don't  know  what  to  do. 

BanTcban. 

So  much  the  worse. 

Servant. 

The  noise — 
Banhhan. 

What  noise? 


238    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAK  DEAMA  | 

Servant. 

The  noise  there  in  the  street — 

Banhhan.  ] 

Why  mind  the  street?    Do  here  as  thou  art  bid!  ^ 

Let  each  man  look  but  to  his  proper  business,  ^ 

And  let  those  follow  suit  who  are  inclined.  j 

(Song  in  the  street,  accompanied  hy  a  guitar.)        '\ 

"Old  man,  young  wife —  1 

What  means  such  life?  j 

If  he  be  wise,  J 

He  shuts  his  eyes."  \ 

Many  voices  (amid  shouts  and  laughter),  ] 

Bankban!     Ho,  Bankban!  ■ 

Servant.  > 

May  poison  and  the  plague — 

Banhhan  (who  has  tied  his  belt  around  his  waist).  ] 

And  now  the  sabre  I  | 

Servant.  < 

0  would  you  then,  my  lord-^  j 

Banhhan.  I 

What?  j 

Servant. 

Draw  your  sabre? 
We  all  shall,  after  you,  dash  through  the  door 
Into  the  jeering  mob,  and  scatter  them. 

Until  the  last  has  fled.  ] 

Banhhan.  \ 

Art  thou  so  full  of  war?  ^ 

1  shall  procure  for  thee  a  place  in  the  army.  j 
This  is  the  home  of  peace.  I  am  its  lodger,  I 
Its  guest,  and  hold  this  place  by  sufferance.  | 
The  Lord  forbid  that  I  create  disturbance,  | 
And  prematurely  lose  my  dwelling  place.  * 
Let  fools  enjoy  their  noise;  hand  me  the  sabre!  ; 

{He  fastens  it  to  his  helt.) 


EIN  TREUER  DIENER  SEINES  HERRN      239 

The  Magyar's  armed  in  war,  in  peace  as  well. 

Though  sore  need  only  can  his  sword  compel; 

And  as  the  husband,  true  in  distant  land, 

Strips  not  his  wedding  ring  from  off  his  hand. 

So  shall  proclaim  this  sword,  remote  from  thought  of  strife, 

The  Magyar's  linked  to  danger  as  man  is  linked  to  wife. 

Be  troubled  not,  and  go ! 
Servant. 

O  look,  my  lord! 

Stones  do  they  throw  and  sand  against  your  window. 
BanJchan. 

Then  open  it,  for  window  panes  are  costly; 

When  open,  what  is  thrown  can  do  no  harm. 

Hand  me  my  hat !    I  hurry  to  the  castle. 

The  king  is  to  depart  before  the  dawn  of  day. 

What  is  the  time? 
Servant. 

The  clock  is  four. 
BanJclan. 

High  time  I 

Look  for  thy  mistress,  thou! 
Another  Servant  (standing  at  the  window). 

There  stand  they,  all. 
BanJchan. 

Then  let  them  stand ! 
Servant. 

Among  them  is  the  prince! 
Bankhan. 

The  prince,  thou  say'st? 

Servant. 

With  my  own  eyes  I've  seen  him. 

Banhhan  {with  half -drawn  sahre). 

Thou,  seen  him  ?    Scoundrel !    Had  my  own  eyes  seen  him, 
I  should  believe  that  waking  I  had  dreamed. 
Rather  than  that  my  sovereign's  brother  erred. 
Be  gone ! — Must  I  thus  rave  like  one  demented, 


240     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

And  scold  ?    By  all  that's  mad  and  void  of  sense ! 
I,  councillor  of  the  king !     Fine  councillor  I ! 
I  better  were  away  at  Farkahegy, 
A  mound  of  stones  upon  me.    But  I'm  rambling — 
Go,  say  I,  go!    I  shall  not  further  talk. 

{A  female  servant  brings  a  gohlet.) 
What  bring'st  thou? 

Servant 

Gracious  sir,  the  morning  draught. 

BanJchan. 

Put  down  the  goblet.    Is  my  wife  awake? 
Servant. 

Yes,  sir,  indeed! 
Bankhan. 

Is  she?    Why  comes  she  not? 

Twice  yes  is  "yes,  indeed!"    If  twice  awake. 

She  ought  at  least  to  come  a  single  time. 

"Yes,  sir,  indeed !"    Save  me  from  all  such  talk ! 

Next  time  say  simply,  "yes."    But  now  speak  thou, 

Why  comes  she  not? 
Servant. 

I  was  to  ask,  my  lord. 

If  you  permitted  her — 
BanJchan. 

I  do  surrender! 

For  silliness  infects,  I  see,  like  fever. 

If  I  permitted,  asks  she?    O  good  God! 

Must  I  permit  who  never  have  refused? 

(Erny  appears  at  the  door.) 

Welcome,  my  Erny !    But  how  strange  thy  message ! 

Didst  through  the  chamberlain  thou  ask  admission? 

I  am  not  fond  of  innovations,  child; 

Therefore,  I  pray,  spare  me  such  novel  customs. 

Erny. 

You  are  not  angry? 


EIN  TREUER  DIENER  SEINES  HERR]^      241 
Bankhan. 

Angry,  why?— Thou  meanest— 

The  street  below  is  common  property. 

We  did  not  ask  them,  nor,  considered  rightly. 

Could  we  prevent  their  doing  what  they  did; 

Though  it  is  scarce  well-mannered  to  disturb 

By  song  at  early  dawn  those  still  asleep. 
Erny. 

And  know  you,  also,  who — 
Banhhan. 

I  do  not  care  to  know. 
Erny, 

The  prince,  so  Gertrude  says — 
Banhhan. 

So  be  it  then. 
My  lord  has  leisure,  let  him  please  his  fancy. 

(Song,  out  in  the  street,) 
"Erny  fair,  good  and  sweet, 
Know'st  thou  not  youth  is  fleet? 
When  thy  hand  gav'st  away, 
Winter  was  wed  to  May." 
Many  voices. 

Bankban!  ho,  Bankban! 

Banhhan   {who  during  the  singing  has  tahen  the  gohlet  and 

emptied  it). 

False  sings  the  middle  one,  nor  heeds  he  time. 

A  pity  'tis.    Bad  song  spoils  purest  voice. 
Erny. 

O,  the  disgrace  and  shame! 
Banhhan, 

For  whom,  dear  child? 

I  know  but  one  disgrace  upon  this  earth. 

And  that  is,  to  do  wrong. 

Erny,  while  aroused  to  indignation  by  the  gossip  and 
the  taunts  of  the  followers  of  the  duke,  and  distrustful  of 


242     GRILLPABZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

his  talk,  is  not  wholly  displeased  by  the  attentions  of  one 
so  high  in  station  and  so  attractive  in  personal  appearance. 
He  makes  no  secret,  in  speaking  to  his  attendants,  of  his 
defiance  of  all  moral  restraints  in  courting  Erny. 

Otto. 

Is  not  my  sister  queen  here  in  this  land? 

Why  should  I  care  for  custom  and  for  morals? 

My  aim  was  merely  to  excite  his  anger. 

He  spoils  my  pleasure  in  my  quest  for  game. 
*  *  4«-  *  *  *  * 

I  shall  still  rouse  his  ire,  who  seems  to  mock 

My  wooing  by  his  bold  security. 

What  else  may  come  I  take  as  added  spice. 

Bankban,  immersed  in  his  official  duties,  asks  Erny  to 
join  in  the  court  festivities  she  fain  would  shun ;  for  Otto's 
importunities  are  growing  more  and  more  urgent.  And 
when  she  confides  to  him  her  dread  of  the  prince,  and  begs 
for  protection  against  her  own  weakness,  which  almost  led 
her  to  write  him  a  letter  (if  only  to  give  an  innocent  ex- 
planation) ;  when,  finally,  she  is  about  to  throw  herself  at 
Bankban's  feet,  protesting  her  innocence,  and  yet  begging 
forgiveness  for  her  indiscretion,  his  tender  refusal  to  find 
her  guilty  of  any  wrongdoing  is  expressed  in  words  of 
touching  simplicity: 

Erny. 

I  cannot  bear  it.    Fiercely  burns  the  leaf, 
The  wicked  leaf,  upon  my  guilty  breast. 

{She  throws  the  paper  from  her.) 
Away  I 

(To  Banhban,  who  has  picked  it  up.) 
Destroy  and  tear  it  into  shreds ! 
Let  no  one,  no  one,  know  what  it  contains  I 


EIN  TEEUER  DIENER  SEINES  HERRN      243 

Banhhan  {unfolding  it). 

What  holds  it  then?    'Tis  empty! 
Erny. 

Empty?  01 

Heirs  characters  are  graven  on  this  leaf. 
Bankhan, 

It  may  be  so,  though  God  alone  can  read  them. 

Besides  the  one  that  thought,  but  did  not  write. 

Here,  take  thy  leaf! 
Erny, 

Not  I,  Bankban,  not  I! 

Upon  this  leaf  I  meant  to  write  the  prince. 
Bankhan, 

The  Lord  forbid! 
Erny, 

And  would  have  done  it,  too. 
Bankhan. 

The  queen,  it  may  be,  eager  is  to  learn 

About  the  strife.    I  shall  report  the  issue. 
Erny. 

And  will  you  leave  me  here  alone,  O  Bankhan? 

Will  you  not  punish,  then,  your  wife,  not  guard  her? 
Bankhan. 

Say'st  punish,  thou,  and  guard?    Tell  me  yourself 

How  shall  I  do  it?     Take  thee  furious  home. 

And  lock  thee  closely  in  a  secret  chamber. 

Behind  a  gate  and  fence  and  bar  and  bolt? 

Import  me  eunuchs  from  the  land  of  Moors, 

Who  mute  and  thousand-eyed  shall  guard  my  wife? 

Shall  I  at  night,  the  lantern  in  my  hand. 

Slink  to  the  gate  and  see  if  it  be  closed? 

A  woman's  honor  is  a  granite  wall: 

Who  undermines  it,  cleaves  the  living  rock. 
Erny. 

Too  hard,  too  hard,  it  is,  Bankban,  my  husband  I 


244    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Bankhan, 

It  may  be  I'm  too  old,  and  thou  art  young, 

I,  tired  of  life  and  serious,  blooming,  thou. 

What  right  then  have  I  thus  to  torture  thee? 

Because  thou  promised'st  me?     Ah,  much  we  promise! 

Because  'tis  custom?    Who  still  honors  custom? 

If  in  thy  heart  there  lives  not  calm  content, 

A  voice  therein  speaks  whispering  not  to  thee: 

That  man  is  kind,  and  honest  is  his  purpose, 

He  loves  as  no  one  loves  me^  and  in  him 

Alone  I  trust — if  thus  speaks  not  the  voice, 

Then  God  help,  Erny,  thee  and  all  of  us! 
»  -x-  *  *  *  *  * 

What  dost  thou  do  ?    Thou,  Erny,  kneel  and  plead  ? 

Thy  word  be  yes  or  no.     If  guiltless,  stand 

Before  me  and  say  simply,  "Here  I  am, 

Thy  sinless  wife,"  and  look  into  my  eye. 

No,  no,  not  down  I  mean,  my  child,  at  me 

Look  straight.    But  tears  obscure  thy  eyes,  dear  wife ! 

'Twas  not  within  my  thought  thus  to  reprove. 

Draw  close  to  me,  and  nestle  to  my  heart. 

And  all  thou  knowest  whisper  to  it  low. 

My  heart  will  hear  thee,  and  it  will  forgive. 

Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  darker  chapters  in  the  re- 
cent history  of  Austrian  princes  may  read  in  Duke  Otto's 
description  of  court-life  an  almost  prophetic  forecast  of 
actual  conditions : 

You  call  me  bad,  and  bad  I  was  and  am, 
Born  on  that  hapless  height  where  slaves  abide 
And  sycophants,  and  men  are  never  seen. 
By  flattery  surrounded  and  upheld. 
The  toy  of  whim,  tossed  back  and  forth  at  will, 
I  plunged  into  the  maddening  whirl  of  life. 
If  bad  I  was,  I  might  have  been  still  worse. 
If  bad  was  all  I  taught,  who  taught  me  good? 


EIN  TREUEE  DIENER  SEINES  HERRN      245 

When  Bankban's  duty  to  his  king  is  put  to  the  supreme 
test,  when  Erny  plunges  the  dagger  into  her  breast  to  es- 
cape Otto's  frenzied  pursuit,  and  Bankban  kneels  down 
beside  her  body,  he  compresses  his  woe  into  the  single 
exclamation : 

"O  Erny,  O  my  child,  my  sweet  and  gentle  child!" 

and  he  thinks  only  of  his  pledge  to  keep  peace  in  the  land. 
He  rescues  the  wretch,  who  has  robbed  him  of  his  all, 
from  the  avenging  hands  of  the  furious  populace;  for  to 
the  duke,  after  the  accidental  death  of  the  queen,  is  en- 
trusted the  care  of  her  little  son,  who  must  be  safely  de- 
livered into  the  hands  of  the  king  on  his  return,  as  the 
faithful  servant  had  solemnly  promised  to  do.  The  almost 
superhuman  emotions  struggling  in  Bankban's  breast  find 
expression  in  that  extraordinary  scene  where  he  leads  the 
little  prince  Bela  out  into  the  open  country,  the  wretched 
duke  following  barefoot  and  in  rags.  Bankban  turns  to 
speak  to  him,  and  the  alternate  accents  of  heart-broken 
grief,  wild  denunciation  of  the  murderer,  and  respectful 
deference  due  to  his  rank,  are  truly  Shakespearean  in  their 
realism  and  power. 

Do  you  dare  touch  this  child?     Ah,  yes;  well,  Duke, 
Take  here  this  cloth  and  gently  dry  his  foot. 
And  where  it  bleeds,  be  sure  you  spare  the  wound. 
Thou  bloody  murderer,  would  I  were  young. 
And  not  so  weak,  thou  shouldst  not  touch  the  boy! 
And  yet,  thou  cursed  man,  thou'rt  Heaven-sent, 
And  therefore,  Duke,  now  listen  to  my  words. 

And  when  his  mission  is  ended,  and  the  king  desires  to  re- 
ward him,  he  interrupts  him  with  these  words : 


246     GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

.   .   .No  more,  my  lord. 

My  days  are  numbered,  let  me  wait  in  peace 

Till  death  shall  come.    Reward  me,  dost  thou  say? 

I  now  may  bear  my  sorrow  free  from  guise. 

My  sorrow  for  my  wife;  now  may  I  turn 

And  read,  alas!  my  answer  in  each  eye; 

For  she  was  innocent  and  just — reward  enough. 

It  is  a  curious  satire  on  criticism  that  the  wiseacres  of 
the  Vienna  journals  in  Grillparzer's  day  should  have  found 
a  servile  spirit  in  a  play  ending  in  the  following  lines 
addressed  by  Bankban  to  royalty,  as  he  kneels  before  the 
boy  who  is  to  occupy  the  throne : 

Be  gentle,  princely  child,  and  be  thou  just ! 
For  but  the  just  are  blessed  by  the  Lord. 
Learn  to  restrain  thyself,  for  self-restraint 
Alone  can  guide  the  curbing  reins  of  law; 
Know  e'er  that  men  are  human,  and  respect 
Thy  servant  as  a  precious  gift  in  need. 
Remember  as  a  man  that  when  a  child 
Thou  layest  helpless  in  a  murderer's  arms; 
And  when  rebellion  clamored  at  the  gate. 
And  far  was  help,  and  counsel  there  was  none. 
Then  did  an  old  man  what  his  strength  allowed. 
An  old  man,  faithful  servant  of  his  lord. 

No  dramatist  was  freer  than  Grillparzer  from  the  ten- 
dency to  subordinate  aesthetic  to  moral  considerations. 
Victor  Hugo's  dictum  that  the  drama  must  "teach  and 
civilize"  was  considered  by  him  valid  only  if  the  lesson  is 
enforced  secondarily  and  indirectly.  He  ridiculed  "those 
profound  Germans  who,  face  to  face  with  the  productions 
of  genius,  ask,  as  did  the  French  mathematician  who  lis- 
tened to  a  play  of  Racine:  *It  is  all  very  well,  but  what 


EIN  TREUER  DIEXER  SEINES  HERRN        247 

does  it  prove  V  "  But  Grillparzer  knew  also,  much  better 
than  his  shallow  critics,  the  overwhelming  value,  aestheti- 
cally as  well  as  morally,  of  complete  surrender  to  an  ideal. 
"In  the  wars  of  the  French  Eevolution,"  he  said,  "the  self- 
sacrifice  of  the  Vendeans  was  as  inspiring  as  the  enthusi- 
asm of  the  Kepublicans,"  and  judged  from  this  point  of 
view,  Bankban's  devotion  to  duty  is  its  own  explanation 
and  hence  its  own  reward.  As  we  recognize  in  the 
truest  poetry  the  poet  himself,  so  we  find  in  Bankban, 
the  most  unique  character  created  by  Grillparzer,  a  mani- 
festation of  some  of  his  deepest  traits.  Bankban's  un- 
compromising determination  to  preserve  at  any  price 
order  within  the  state  is  the  expression  of  Grillparzer^s 
own  political  creed,  and  explains  his  attitude  toward  the 
revolution  of  1848.  "Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn'^ 
is,  however,  as  Ehrhard  has  pointed  out,  inherently  and  not 
through  the  character  of  Bankban  alone,  one  of  the  most 
striking  of  Grillparzer^s  works.  Just  as  in  writing  "Otto- 
kar'^  the  author  departed  widely  from  the  dramatic  prin- 
ciples that  had  guided  him  in  the  composition  of  "Sappho'^ 
and  "The  Golden  Fleece" — themselves  a  protest  against  his 
"Ahnfrau'' — so  in  writing  "Ein  treuer  Diener  seines 
Herrn,"  he  once  more  struck  out  in  entirely  new  paths. 
For  the  first  time  the  influence  of  Lope  de  Vega  on  his 
genius  becomes  apparent;  but  Grillparzer's  poetic  self- 
restraint  achieves  a  triumph  such  as  the  great  Spaniard,  in 
the  unbridled  exuberance  of  his  fancy,  rarely  attained. 
"The  Austrian  poet,"  says  Ehrhard,  "never  forgets  the 
sound  principles  drawn  from  the  study  of  the  Greeks.  His 
personages  have  more  solidity  and  logic  than  those  of  the 
Spanish  master.     One  might  be  tempted  to  believe  that 


248     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

the  thread  that  guides  the  author  through  the  labyrinth 
of  a  nature  so  changeable  and  full  of  surprises  as  that 
of  Otto  must  ©scape  him,  and  with  it  the  logical  consist- 
ency of  the  character.  But  the  fear  is  groundless.  The 
poet  leads  Otto  through  all  his  vicissitudes  and  in- 
coherences without  losing  sight  of  his  real  nature.  While 
breaking  with  all  conventionalities,  he  remains  true  to  the 
supreme  law  of  art.  Otto  von  Meran  has  in  him  nothing  of 
the  conventional  types  of  the  stage.  He  is  no  Don  Juan, 
nor  is  he  the  Prince  of  Guastalla  of  Lessing,  any  more  than 
Erny  is  Emilia  Galotti,  in  spite  of  the  similarity  of  the 
situations.  He  is  the  most  perfect  of  the  characters  which 
Grillparzer  created  on  the  model  of  those  of  Lope  de  Vega, 
or  rather  on  the  model  of  Nature,  whom  he  knew  how  to 
portray  in  all  her  caprices  and  vagaries.  It  is  the  creation 
of  a  poet  who  could  become  a  thoroughgoing  realist  with- 
out ceasing  to  be  a  poet." 

The  popular  success  of  his  tragedy  could  not  restore  to 
its  author  the  peace  of  mind  which  had  fled  from  him  even 
before  its  completion.  He  believed  that  the  choice  of  his 
subject  was  a  mistake,  that  the  play  was  "much  too  crude 
and  violent,"  and  he  therefore  considered  it  unfit  to  be 
dedicated  to  Goethe,  contrary  to  his  original  purpose. 
After  handing  the  manuscript  to  the  director  of  the  Burg- 
theater,  he  wrote  in  his  diary:  "I  feel  that  my  strength 
is  deserting  me.  I  am  weary  and  heartsick  unto  death." 
And  in  this  state  of  mental  depression  he  had  to  face  the 
hostility  of  the  bureaucracy  toward  him,  which  was  but 
intensified  by  the  impression  which  his  latest  play  pro- 
duced on  the  public. 


OFFICIAL  PEESECUTION 


Dreaey  years  of  tribulations  in  office  followed.  Count 
Stadion,  Grillparzer's  enlightened  chief  and  patron,  was 
dead,  and  the  new  minister  of  finance,  though  considerate 
to  every  one  else,  conceived,  as  the  hypochondriacal  poet 
thought,  a  peculiar  dislike  toward  him.  Even  certain 
small  perquisites  of  office,  justly  due  him,  were  withheld 
from  him,  ostensibly  because  his  loyalty  was  not  above 
suspicion.  He  was  reproached  with  having  been  a  mem- 
ber of  the  liUdlams-Hohle,  a  harmless  society  of  literary 
men,  musicians  and  artists,  which  several  years  previously 
had  acquired  a  certain  mysterious  celebrity,  inasmuch  as 
at  its  gatherings  the  assembled  wits  were  supposed  to 
vent  their  indignation,  even  if  in  cautiously  veiled  lan- 
guage, against  the  powers  in  church  and  state.  The 
director  of  the  Vienna  police,  anxious  to  ingratiate  him- 
self with  his  superiors,  one  day  dispersed  the  gathering 
and  confiscated  all  the  documents  found  at  the  festive 
board.  The  next  morning  policemen  appeared  in  the 
private  rooms  of  the  members,  seized  all  their  papers,  and 
placed  the  inmates  under  arrest.  For  twenty-four  hours 
Grillparzer  was  not  even  allowed  to  eat  his  meals  without 
police  supervision.  Although  the  higher  authorities  were 
made  to  see  the  absurdity  of  the  police  director's  zeal,  and 
cancelled  the  sentence  pronounced  by  him  against  the  pub- 


250     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

lie  officials  who  were  among  the  members  of  the  Ludlams- 
Hohle,  Grillparzer  remained  for  years  a  marked  man  in 
the  eyes  of  his  superiors.  He  even  incurred  the  ill-will  of 
the  emperor  himself,  through  an  incident  which  he  relates 

as  follows : 

"My  devotion  to  Austria  was  part  of  my  very  being. 
Aside  from  the  hold  which  patriotism  has  on  every  normal 
person,  I  had  a  decided  predilection  for  the  ingenuous,  gay, 
and  highly  sensitive,  if  rather  untutored,  nature  of  the 
Austrians.  And  on  that  account  I  have  never  felt  thor- 
oughly at  home  in  Germany.  My  love  of  country  I  trans- 
ferred only  too  easily  to  the  reigning  family,  as  its  repre- 
sentative. Little  reason  as  I  had  hitherto  had  to  be  grate- 
ful to  any  member  of  that  family,  I  was  exceedingly  slow 
in  condemning  any  one  of  them.  About  that  time  the 
crown  prince,  afterwards  Emperor  Ferdinand,  was  danger- 
ously ill.  Public  opinion  concerning  this  young  prince  was 
divided.  Some  thought  him  a  person  of  very  slender 
ability,  while  others  judged  from  his  silence,  whenever  the 
council  of  state  deliberated  upon  unpopular  public 
measures,  that  his  sentiments  were  more  in  accord  with 
those  of  the  people.  All,  however,  were  agreed  as  to  his 
innate  kindness  of  heart.  During  his  severe  illness  I  gave 
vent  to  my  fears  and  hopes  in  a  few  stanzas,  according  to 
my  habit  of  turning  to  lyric  poetry  as  a  means  of  relieving 
my  feelings — a  practice,  I  admit,  which  scarcely  entitles 
me  to  be  considered  a  true  lyric  poet. 

"The  burden  of  the  poem  was  that  only  the  future,  as 
was  true  enough,  could  reveal  the  mental  endowment  of 
the  prince;  for  the  present  we  were  happy  to  know  that  he 
possessed  in  the  highest  degree  that  quality  which,  above  all 


OFFICIAL  PEESECUTIO"^  251 

others,  adorns  man.     I  mean  goodness,  which  in  its  most 
perfect  expression  is  a  form  of  wisdom  in  itself. 

"I  was  well  aware  that  this  phrase  was  liable  to  misinter- 
pretation ;  but  I  wrote  the  poem  merely  to  please  myself, 
and  did  not  dream  of  publishing  it.  When  it  lay  finished 
on  my  writing  table,  a  friend  called  on  me  who,  without 
being  literary  himself,  was  in  touch  with  all  the  literary 
men  of  Vienna.  I  happened  to  be  called  away,  and  he  in 
the  meantime  read,  rather  indiscreetly,  the  poem  which  had 
caught  his  eye.  He  was  delighted  with  it,  perhaps  just  be- 
cause it  was  within  the  bounds  of  truth,  and  he  expressed 
himself  to  this  effect  in  speaking  about  it  to  his  literary 
friends.  They  asked  to  see  it,  and  I  offered  no  objection. 
I  read  it  aloud  in  the  evening  at  the  restaurant  where  we 
had  a  room  of  our  own,  and  I  was  urged  by  all,  particu- 
larly by  the  editor  of  a  certain  Vienna  periodical,  to  have 
it  printed.  My  fears  of  a  possible  misinterpretation  were 
calmed  by  the  unanimous  approval  of  so  many  able  men ; 
moreover,  I  knew  that  the  poem  had  to  be  submitted  to  the 
censor,  who,  if  he  found  anything  obnoxious  in  it,  would 
be  sure  to  prohibit  it.  It  was  therefore  agreed  that  the 
editor  of  the  periodical  in  question  was  to  hand  the  poem 
to  the  censor — well  known  to  each  of  us — ^not  officially, 
but  merely  in  a  friendly  way,  and  to  take  it  back  in  case 
he  objected  to  it.  The  censor,  himself  a  poet  and  at  one 
time  director  of  a  theatre,  said  that  he  was  not  able  to  give 
his  sanction  to  the  publication  of  the  poem.  But  when  the 
editor  asked  him  to  return  it,  he  replied  that  this  was  op- 
posed to  his  sense  of  duty,  and  that  he  felt  obliged  to  sub- 
mit it  to  the  higher  authorities.  Whether  he  acted  from 
a  stupid  desire  to  get  the  poem  into  print  or  from  mere 


252     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIA:^'  DRAMA 

rascality,  I  do  not  know.  At  all  events,  permission  to 
print  the  poem  was  refused,  and  at  the  same  time  it  was 
spread  broadcast  in  countless  written  copies.  The  very 
persons  who  thought  ill  of  the  prince  saw  in  my  verses  a 
wilful  intention  to  ridicule  him,  while  mercenary  scoun- 
drels attacked  me  and  my  poem  in  wretched  doggerel,  like- 
wise widely  distributed  in  written  copies.  Thus  was  en- 
gendered a  veritable  literary  revolt  against  the  dynasty.'' 
The  literary  merits  of  the  poem  are  no  greater  than  those 
of  similar  effusions  addressed  by  Goethe  to  the  princely 
personages  whom  he  had  to  welcome  in  his  semi-official 
capacity,  and  we  must  take  Grillparzer's  word  as  to  the 
loyal  impulse  which  prompted  it ;  but  it  cannot  cause  sur- 
prise that  neither  emperor  nor  crown  prince  quite  relished 
the  compliment  implied  in  the  lines: 

"Mag  sein,  dass  hochster  Geistesgaben  Fiille 
Dereinst  umleuchtet  deinen  Fiirstenhut; 
Wir  forschen  nicht,  was  Zukunft  erst  enthiille, 
Des  Einen  sicher  jetzt  schon:  dass  du  gut." 

(Perhaps  in  thee  a  lordly  mind  reposes. 
By  wisdom  crowned  some  day  thy  figure  shines; 
We  care  not  what  the  time  to  come  discloses, 
Content  that  goodness  now  thy  heart  enshrines.) 

When  Grillparzer  sought  an  audience  of  the  emperor, 
and  urged  his  claim  to  a  modest  addition  to  his  salary, 
Francis  told  him  that  his  request  was  an  entirely  reason- 
able one ;  but  he  quietly  filed  his  petition  away  among  the 
papers  which  were  not  to  be  acted  upon  during  his  lifetime, 
and  there  it  was  found  after  his  death.  The  crown  prince 
Ferdinand,  as  he  told  an  acquaintance  of  Grillparzer,  bore 
him  long  a  decided  grudge  for  his  ill-starred  poem, 


^^    XI 

DES  MEEEES  UND  DEB  LIEBE  WELLEN 

The  fate  of  Grillparzer's  verses  reinforced  the  lesson 
taught  him  by  the  reception  of  "Ein  treuer  Diener  seines 
Herrn,"  that  it  was  dangerous  in  Austria  to  make  poetic 
use  of  historic  subjects.  He  turned  once  more  to  the  an- 
cients for  a  dramatic  theme,  and  found  it  in  the  legend  of 
Hero  and  Leander.  He  had  considered  the  subject,  which 
had  become  familiar  to  him  through  the  poem  of  the  Greek 
grammarian  Musaeus  and  Schiller's  ballad,  as  early  as 
1819,  immediately  after  the  success  of  his -"Sappho,"  and 
he  brought  to  the  execution  of  his  plan  in  1830  the  full 
maturity  of  his  powers.  "Des  Meeres  und  der  Liebe  Wel- 
len"  (The  Waves  of  the  Sea  and  of  Love)  is  the  most 
beautiful  love  drama  in  German  literature  and  is  perhaps 
the  only  one  in  all  literature  that  can  be  classed  with 
"Komeo  and  Juliet." 

The  play  was  first  performed  at  the  Burgtheater  on  the 
5th  of  April,  1831.  "It  met  with  no  favor,"  is  the  laconic 
entry  in  the  author's  diary.  He  had  put  his  hope 
mainly  on  the  fourth  act,  which  fell  flat,  and  he  modestly 
remarks:  "If  I  can  succeed  by  a  few  good  plays  in  re- 
taining my  place  among  poets  who  are  to  live,  the  time 
may  come  when  the  value  of  what  I  accomplished,  even  if 
only  partially,  in  that  fourth  act  will  be  recognized," 
adding :  "Had  I  succeeded  in  the  task  I  set  myself,  poetry 


254     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

would  have  gained  a  treasure."  Posterity  has  removed  all 
doubt  as  to  his  success. 

Grillparzer  lent  to  Hero  some  of  the  traits  of  a  woman 
who  was  long  the  object  of  his  passionate  devotion,  Marie 
Daffinger — "a  truly  divine  beauty/'  he  calls  her — and,  as 
in  most  of  his  dramas,  there  are  autobiographic  touches  in 
some  of  the  other  characters  in  the  play.  Hero,  in  contrast 
with  Shakespeare's  Juliet,  outranks  her  lover  in  dramatic 
importance  and  psychological  depth.  She  is  the  most  per- 
fect and  most  charming  of  all  of  Grillparzer's  heroines. 

The  scene  is  at  Sestos,  on  the  Hellespont.  At  the  open- 
ing of  the  first  act  Hero  is  busy  adorning  the  temple  of 
Aphrodite,  whose  priestess  she  is  to  become  that  very 
day.  lanthe,  her  attendant,  gay  as  Hero  is  serious,  speaks 
of  the  two  strange  youths  whom  both  had  noticed  at  the 
gate,  and  is  chided  for  her  levity.  The  priest.  Hero's 
uncle,  tells  her  that  her  parents,  from  whom  she  has 
long  been  estranged,  have  come  to  see  her  and  to  enjoy 
her  proud  distinction.  The  mother  would  fain  take 
Hero  back  to  her  home  and  see  her  fulfil  woman's  destiny 
as  wife  and  mother,  though  her  own  lot,  by  the  side  of  a 
low-minded  husband,  has  been  unhappy.  The  conver- 
sation is  interrupted  by  the  commotion  caused  by  the  cap- 
ture of  a  nesting  pigeon,  which  has  trespassed  upon  the 
spot  sacred  to  universal  celibacy,  as  the  priest  explains : 

No  bird  builds  near  the  temple  here  his  nest, 
Nor  in  this  grove  shall  pigeons  coo  unpunished; 
The  creeping  vine  shall  cling  not  to  the  elm. 
Whate'er  lives  as  a  pair,  avoid  this  house ! 
And  she  there  from  this  day  bows  to  this  law. 

Hero  persuades  her  mother  to  look  without  misgivings 


DES  MEERES  UND  DER  LIEBE  WELLEN      255 

upon  the  festivities  that  are  about  to  begin.  As  the  mul- 
titude advances,  the  two  strangers  once  more  appear  and 
place  themselves  near  the  altar.  Hero  sees  them  and  is 
seized  with  confusion  as  she  utters  the  formula  that  seals 
her  fate. 

In  the  second  act  we  find  Leander,  the  melancholy  fisher- 
man of  Abydos,  listening  languidly  to  the  eloquent  story  of 
jovial  IN'aukleros,  who  seeks,  by  his  glowing  description  of 
Hero's  charms,  to  dispel  his  friend's  gloom,  and  to  con- 
vince him  that  he  is  in  love  with  her. 

Hero  {carrying  a  pitcher  on  her  head,  and  holding  another  in 
her  right  hand.    She  sings.) 

"Gently  she   strokes 
The  plumage  soft — " 

{8he  stops  and  speaks.) 
My  uncle  thinks  I  must  not  sing  the  song 
Of  Leda  and  the  Swan. 

(She  resumes  her  walk.) 
How  can  it  harm? 
(As  she  reaches  the  centre  of  the  stage,  Leander  suddenly  jumps 
forward,  with  bowed  head,  and  throws  himself  at  her  feet.) 
Hero. 

Ye  gods,  what  is  this?    O  how  frightened  am  I! 
My  knees  do  tremble,  scarce  I  hold  the  pitcher. 

(She  sets  the  pitchers  down.) 
A  man !    Another !    Why,  strange  men,  intrude  you  ? 
Why  seek  the  priestess  in  this  sacred  grove? 
Not  unprotected  am  I,  not  unguarded. 
If  I  but  raise  my  voice,  the  guards  approach. 
And  make  you  sore  repent  your  rash  intrusion. 
Go  then  while  it  is  time;  your  punishment 
Be  knowing  that  you  sinned,  and  sinned  in  vain. 
Naukleros. 

O  maiden,  we  came  not  to  do  thee  harm. 


256     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

But  seeking  cure  for  deeply  hidden  woe 

That  seized  upon  the  friend  whom  there  thou  seest.  \ 

111  is  that  man. 
Hero.  \ 

Why  dost  thou  speak  to  me? 

The  priests'  advice  seek  in  Apollo's  temple, 

They  heal  the  sick. 
Nauhleros. 

Not  sickness  such  as  his,  i 

Which  seized  him  in  this  temple  at  this  feast,  ] 

And  leaves  him  only  at  this  very  spot.  \ 

Hero. 

Meanest  thou  to-day's  feast? 
Nauhleros. 

Yes,  thy  eyes  he  feasts  on. 
Hero. 

Is  such  your  meaning,  such  your  bold  intent? 

But  well  I  know  how  low  the  vulgar  crowd, 

Without  a  sense  of  shame,  of  reverence  void. 

I  go,  and  call  attendants,  who  are  near. 

To  fetch  the  pitchers.    They,  if  still  you  linger,  j 

Shall  tell  you  both  how  serious  your  offence.  1 

Nauhleros.  { 

Not  thus  depart!     Cast  first  a  glance  at  him,  J 

The  youth  whom  sorely  wounds  thy  ruthless  speech.  | 

Leander  iloohing  up  to  her).  1 

O  stay!  j 

Hero.  5 

Thou  art  the  youth,  I  now  remember,  j 

Who  at  Hymenseos'  altar  knelt  to-day.  I 

Thou  then  didst  gentle  seem  and  reverential,  j 

And  sorry  am  I  now  to  find  thee  changed.  s 

Leander  (who  has  risen).  i 

Not  changed!    O  stay!  | 

Hero  ito  Nauhleros).  | 

What  is  this  man's  intent?  1 


DES  MEERES  UND  DER  LIEBE  WELLEN      25^ 

Nauhleros. 

He  feasts,  I  said,  on  every  look  of  thine, 

And  death  and  life  is  every  word  thou  speak'st. 

Hero. 

Thou  hast  been  ill  advised,  thou  gentle  youth. 

And  from  the  proper  path  has  strayed  thy  mind. 

For  if  most  leniently  I  were  to  judge. 

It  still  would  seem  thy  thought  does  favor  me. 

But  I  am  priestess  in  the  goddess'  shrine. 

And  am  unwedded,  as  my  vow  commands. 

Nor  is  it  safe  to  think  of  wooing  me. 

For  death  is  his  who  makes  the  rash  attempt. 

Therefore  leave  me  my  pitcher,  and  depart; 

I  should  be  sorry  if  you  met  with  harm. 

Leander. 

0  let  the  ocean's  depth  be  then  my  grave! 

Hero. 

Poor  wretched  man !    My  heart  feels  deeply  for  thee  I 

Nauhleros. 

By  pity,  priestess,  not  alone  be  swayed. 

Reach  out  a  helping  hand  to  him  who  loves  thee. 

Hero. 

What  can  I  do?    Thou  know'st  all  I  can  say. 

Nauhleros. 

Give  him  at  least  a  single  healing  word. 

Come  here!     The  bush  keeps  off  the  spying  eye. 

1  place  thy  pitcher  near  thee  in  the  shade. 
Come  then,  and  vouchsafe  us  a  single  word. 
Wilt  thou  not  sit  here? 

Hero. 

'Tis  not  meet  to  do  so. 

Nauhleros. 

Do  it  from  pity  for  the  suffering  youth! 

Hero  (to  Leander). 
Then  sit  thee,  too. 


258     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  \ 

NauJcleros.  i 

Yes,  here,  and  near  him  thou.  j 

Hero  (to  Naukleros).  \ 

I  said  before,  and  say  it  now  again :  I 

No  man  there  breathes  may  think  of  wooing  me,  i 

For  to  live  husbandless  requires  my  office.  \ 
Had  you  come  yesterday,  I  was  still  free; 

To-day  I  vowed,  and  I  shall  keep  my  vow.  i 

{To  Leander.)         \ 
Shade  not  thy  eyes  with  sorrowing  hand,  O  youth! 

No,  leave  this  grove  with  courage  unimpaired;  ] 

Bestow  thy  glance  upon  another  maid,  j 

And  sun  thee  in  a  favor  here  denied.  ] 

Leander  (jumping  up).  ! 

May  I  be  swallowed  by  the  gaping  earth,  | 

May  from  me  turn  whate'er  is  good  and  fair,  i 

If  ever  other  woman,  other  love —  I 

Hero  (who  has  also  risen,  to  NauMeros).  *: 
Tell  him  to  speak  not  thus!    What  boots  it  him? 
What  boots  it  me?    Why  thus  torment  one's  self? 

He  is  so  fair,  so  youthful,  and  so  kind,  I 

I  wish  him  every  joy  and  happiness.  v 

Let  him  go  home.  ; 

Leander, 

Home,  I  ?    Here  I  take  root,  ^ 
And  as  these  trees  stand  here  by  night  and  day. 

So  shall  I  stand  and  toward  the  temple  gaze.  i 

Hero.  ^ 

The  guardians  of  this  place  will  seize  and  harm  him,  \ 
Tell  himi 

(To  Leander.)  j 

And  if,  kind  youth,  thou  homeward  go^st,  I 

Let  life's  swift  changes  and  its  varied  cares  ;^ 

Blot  out  as  much  of  this  as  was  too  much,  1 

While  thou  preserv'st  the  rest.    And  so  shall  I.  | 

And  when  next  year,  and  every  following  year,  1 


DES  MEERES  UND  DEE  LIEBE  WELLEuST      259 

Returns  the  feast  we  celebrate  to-day, 

Come  thou  again,  and  in  the  temple  stand. 

That  I  may  see  thee,  glad  if  quiet  thou. 
Leander  (throwing  himself  at  her  feet).  *> 

O  maid  divine! 
Hero. 

Not  thus!     It  is  not  proper. 

And  see!     My  uncle  comes.     He  will  reprove  me. 

And  justly  so.    Why  did  I  yield  to  thee  ? 
NauJcleros. 

Hand  me  thy  pitcher,  and  I'll  drink  from  it. 

Thus  giving  good  account  of  what  took  place. 
Leander  (pushing  him  aside). 

Not  thou!     I,  I! 
Hero   (holding  out  the  pitcher  to  him,  from  which  he  drinks 

kneeling). 

Drink  then,  and  every  drop 

Give  comfort  thee,  and  give  thee  happiness. 

Hero  tells  the  priest,  who  arrives  upon  the  scene,  that 
Leander  is  ill,  and  is  rebuked  for  allowing  him  to  remain 
within  the  sacred  precincts.  The  feast  is  over,  and 
strangers  found  near  the  temple  after  sundown  are  harshly 
dealt  with.  They  depart,  Leander  being  determined  to 
return. 

The  scene  of  the  third  act  is  in  the  tower,  henceforth 
Hero's  dwelling  place.  The  priest  points  out  to  her  all  its 
sacerdotal  belongings,  heirlooms  of  their  family,  who 
had  before  this  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  furnishing 
priestesses  to  Aphrodite : 

And  yonder  is  the  room  wherein  thy  couch. 

It  is  the  same  that  greeted  thy  arrival 

On  that  first  day,  full  seven  years  ago — 

The  couch  that  saw  thee  grow  and  bloom  and  ripen. 


260     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

And  gain  in  wisdom  and  in  gentle  goodness, 
Whereon,  thy  cheeks  by  healthy  slumber  reddened, 
Thou  lay'st  in  gentle  dreams  of  happiness 
That  now  are  realized —     But  still  thou  dream'st. 
Hero, 

I  listen  to  thee,  uncle. 

The  priest  had  hoped  to  find  her  happier  than  before, 
but  she  pleads  for  one  night's  rest,  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
which  come  and  go.  He  leaves  her,  with  an  uneasy  fore- 
boding : 

Sleep  well  then,  and  if  counsel  thou  requir'st. 

Seek  it  in  me,  who  as  thy  father  am; 

But  if  thou  shouldst  the  friend's  advice  reject. 

Gladly  from  out  these  veins  would  pour  my  blood 

Were  there  within  a  solitary  drop 

That  could  do  wrong  or  harbor  evil  thought. 

Hero  is  alone  and  left  to  her  thoughts. 

What  happened  in  the  grove — I  clearly  see — 

When  those  two  youths  I  met,  displeased  the  priest; 

Nor  is  he  wrong,  as  I  in  truth  must  own. 

Had  I  not  Hero  been,  and  not  a  priestess. 

Destined  to  serve  the  gods  with  pious  heart. 

The  younger,  smaller,  him  with  ringlets  dark. 

Perhaps  I  should  have  liked.    Perhaps?    Ah!    Yes, 

I  know  now  that  affection,  as  they  call  it. 

Is  something  real,  that  can  be  avoided. 

Avoid  it  then  I  shall.     Ye  gracious  gods! 

How  much  does  teach  a  day,  and  ah,  how  little 

Gives  us,  or  takes  from  memory,  a  year! 

He's  gone!     And  nevermore  perchance  I'll  see  him. 

Thus  ends  it  all.    And  well  it  is,  perhaps. 

{She  takes  off  her  cloak.) 
Lie  here!     This  morn  in  quite  a  different  mood 


DES  MEERES  UND  DEE  LIEBE  WELLEN      261 

I  took  thee  up  than  now  I  lay  thee  down: 
The  story  of  a  life  thou  dost  enfold. 
Keep  what  thou  know'st !    I  shook  it  off  with  thee. 
But  what  am  I  to  do?    I  cannot  sleep. 

{She  seizes  the  lamp  and  holds  it  up.) 
Inspect  the  place?    How  large  it  is  and  empty! 
Oft  shall  I  see  thee  through  the  many  years; 
What  thou  canst  offer  I  shall  learn  full  soon. 
Hark!     Nothing  stirred.    Alone,  alone,  alone! 
(She  puts  the  lamp  down  before  the  window  and  looks  out.) 
How  quiet  is  the  night!    The  Hellespont 
Lets  its  still  waves  play  on,  as  children  do. 
They  barely  whisper,  bent  on  silent  pleasure. 
No  sound,  no  glimmer!     Only  this  my  lamp 
Throws  pallid  lights  far  out  into  the  dark. 
I  move  thee  closer  to  the  window  bars. 
That  some  belated  wand'rer  may  rejoice 
In  thinking  that  one  soul  at  least  still  wakes. 
Be  thou  a  star  illumining  the  night. 
And  send  a  ray  to  yonder  distant  shore ! 
But  hostile  eyes  may  watch —    Go  then  to  sleep. 
Thou  pale  companion,  with  thy  steady  light. 
And  as  I  darken  now  thy  gentle  ray, 
So  may  extinguished  be  what  here  still  glimmers 
And  no  new  evening  evermore  shall  kindle. 

(She  puts  the  lamp  down  on  the  table.) 
Still  up  so  late? —    O  mother,  please,  0  please! — 
No,  children  must  sleep  early!    Be  it  so! 
(She  takes  the  jewels  from  her  hair  and  sings  in  a  subdued 
voice.) 

"And  Leda   strokes 

The  plumage  soft — " 
Why  does  this  song  forever  haunt  my  mind? 
No  longer  gods  descend  to  desert  towers, 
No  swan,  no  eagle,  comforts  loneliness, 
Forgotten  solitude  is  and  remains, 


262     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA  j 

A  lyre  have  placed  they  here  for  me  to  use.  | 

I  never  learned  to  play  upon  its  strings.  j 
In  truth  I  wish  I  had.    Thoughts  come  and  go, 

i      And  in  confused  flight  benumb  my  soul.  j 

Sweet  sounds  may  help  them  to  a  harmony.  | 

0  handsome  youth,  so  gentle  and  so  kind,  j 

1  in  this  late  hour  truly  think  of  thee,  | 
And  with  so  evenly  diffused  a  feeling  J 
That  in  its  folds  no  evil-doing  lurks,  ] 
I  wish  thee  well,  rejoicing  thou  art  far;  i 
And  if  my  voice  could  reach  thee  where  thou  art,  | 
In  greeting  I  should  call:  good-night!  j 

Leander  (appearing  in  the  hachground  at  the  window).  i 

Good-night !         ] 

Hero,  1 

Ha !  what  is  this  ?    Is't  echo,  thou,  that  speak'st  ?  \ 

Dost  visit  me  here  in  my  solitude?  t 

Welcome,  fair  nymph,  I  greet  thy  coming!  j 

Leander,  '\ 

I  greet  thee,  nymph!  ■{ 

Hero,  \ 

This  is  no  echo,  no !  1 

A  head!    Two  arms!    A  man  here  at  the  window! 

He  lifts  himself,  he  comes !    He  kneels  upon  the  sill ! 

Stand  back !    Lost  art  thou  if  I  raise  my  voice.  j 

Leander.  j 

Grant  me  to  tarry  but  a  single  moment!  | 

The  stones  are  crumbling  underneath  my  feet. 

If  thou  permitt'st  not  I  must  plunge  below.  "] 

A  little  while,  and  gladly  I  climb  back. 

(He  descends  into  the  room.)  ^ 

Hero.  1 

Stand  there,  and  stir  not!    God-forsaken  one,  ■ 

What  led  thee  hither?  I 

Leander.  % 

I  beheld  thy  light  1 


DES  MEERES  UND  DEE  LIEBE  WELLE]^      263  \ 

Send  out  its  rays  into  the  darkness  deep. 

Here,  too,  'twas  night,  and  for  the  light  I  longed,  '] 

And  therefore  climbed  I.  ] 

1 
Hero. 

Who  was  thy  companion? 

Who  held  the  ladder,  lent  thee  arm  and  aid?  I 

Leander.  ] 
No  ladder  had  I,  nor  had  I  man's  help. 

I  placed  my  foot  where  loosely  stones  were  joined,  t 

And  with  my  hand  to  ivy  clung  and  creepers.  ^ 
Thus  came  I  here. 

Hero.  J 

And  hadst  thou  slipped  and  fallen?  ] 

Leander.  i 

Then  had  I  happy  been.  1 

Hero.  i 

And  had  they  seen  thee?  I 

Leander.  I 
They  saw  not. 

Hero.  i 

Those  who  guard  this  sacred  place 

Are  at  this  very  moment  keeping  watch.  I 

Unhappy  man!    Hadst  thou  not  been  commanded,  ^ 

Not  begged  by  me,  to  turn  thy  footsteps  home?  , 

Leander.  I 

I  was  at  home,  but  rest  there  I  found  none ;  j 
Then  sought  the  sea  I,  and  I  swam  across. 

Hero.  i 

How?     From  Abydos'  widely  separated  shore?  I 

A  distance  that  two  oarsmen's  strength  might  tax?  | 

Leander.  ^ 

Thou  seest  I  did  it.    And  if  I  had  died,  | 

A  prey  to  the  first  wave's  advance  had  sunk,  j 

Still  had  I  been  by  so  much  nearer  thee,  ' 

And  died  a  sweeter  death.  ■ 


264     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAIST  DEAMA  I 

Hero.  I 

Thy  hair  is  wet,  | 

And  wet  thy  garment  is.     Thou  shiver'st,  too.  1 

Leander. 

I  shiver  not  from  cold.    Heat  shakes  my  frame. 
(While  still  in  the  hachground,  he  is  about  to  hneel  down.)         i 

Hero.  I 

Not  so!     Stay  here,  and  rest  a  little  while,  j 

For  soon  thou  must  leave  hence.    'Twas  then  my  light,  1 

The  lamp,  that  gave  direction  thee  and  aim?  i 

Thou  warn'st  me  to  conceal  it  in  the  future.  I 

Leander.  | 

0  do  it  not,  O  maiden,  do  it  not!  '\ 

1  shall  not  come  again  if  thou  dost  chide,  1 
But  thy  lamp's  glow,  O  that  deny  me  not!  ] 
As  sleepless  I  this  night  my  couch  deserted,  I 
And  stepping  from  my  cabin's  lowly  door,  | 
From  darkness  into  vaster  darkness  peered,  I 
There  lay  the  sea  before  me  and  its  coasts,  | 
A  carpet  huge  and  black,  an  endless  black,  I 
A  world  of  mourning,  universal  sorrow.  | 
My  soul  partook  of  all  the  gathered  wildness,  | 
When  lo !  a  sudden  flash  on  the  horizon,  | 
A  little  star  appeared,  like  a  last  hope.  I 
Spun  in  a  thousand  threads,  the  glow  illumed,  I 
A  golden  net,  the  dark  and  dreary  world.  i 
It  was  thy  light,  this  tower's  shining  lamp. 

A  mighty  hope  then  swelled  my  beating  heart,  J 
That  would  no  longer  stay  within  its  bounds; 

I  hastened  to  the  shore,  and  plunged,  and  swam,  'j 

That  light  before  my  eye  a  steady  guide.  ] 

And  thus  I  came,  and  thus  I  reached  this  shore.  1 

I  shall  not  come  again  if  angry  thou,  i 

But  do  not  rob  me  of  my  star  and  hope,  ^ 

Withdraw  my  consolation  not,  this  light.  4 


Hero  gently  refuses,  reminding  Leander 


DES  MEERES  U:^rD  DER  LIEBE  WELLEN      265 

I  am  betrothed  to  duties  harsh  and  serious. 
And  loveless  must  remain  the  priestess'  heart. 
Two  days  ago  hadst  come  thou,  I  was  free; 
Now  'tis  too  late.    Go  then,  nor  e'er  return! 

She  points  out  to  him  the  gate  that  will  lead  him  to  a 
safer  path  than  the  one  by  which  he  came;  but  steps  are 
heard  approaching.  Terror-struck,  after  vainly  looking 
for  a  hiding  place  for  Leander,  she  allows  him  to  seek 
safety  in  her  own  room.  He  takes  the  lamp  with  him,  and 
she  remains  in  the  darkness.  The  guardian  of  the  temple, 
accompanied  by  lanthe,  enters.  He  has  seen  the  light, 
and  will  not  listen  to  lanthe,  who  seeks  to  shield  the 
priestess  from  his  suspicion.  He  retires,  protesting  that 
tJie  morrow  will  show  that  he  Avas  right.  When  the 
guardian  and  lanthe  are  gone,  Leander  emerges  from 
Hero's  room  without  the  lamp,  and  in  the  darkness  he  acci- 
dentally touches  her  shoulder.  She  starts  back  affrighted 
and  asks  him  to  bring  the  lamp: 

Leander  {returning  with  the  lamp). 
Here  is  thy  lamp, 

(He  puts  it  down.) 
And  with  me  thank  the  gods. 
Hero. 

Thank,  say'st  thou?     Thank?    For  what?     That  still  thou 

livest  ? 
Is  such  thy  happiness?     O  wretched  man! 
Why  camest  thou  here?    With  no  thought  but  of  thee. 
My  peaceful  days  thou  cruelly  disturb'st. 
Instilling  poison  in  my  quiet  breast. 
O  would  the  sea  had  ruthless  swallowed  thee 
When  thou  didst  give  thy  body  to  the  waves! 
Would  that  the  crumbling  stones  had  slipped  thy  grasp 


266     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTKIAN  DRAMA 

When  climbing  up  this  tower  thy  fingers  clutched, 

Would  thou — O  frightful  picture!     O  Leander! 
Leander. 

What  say'st  thou?    Dost  thou  chide  me  not? 
Hero.  Leander, 

Hear  me !    Take  not  the  same  way  back  thou  earnest  I 

Thy  path  is  dangerous,  is  monstrous,  horrible! 

What  is  it  that  enshrouds  us  so  in  night, 

So  makes  us  strangers  to  our  very  selves. 

As  to  subject  us  to  those  strange  to  us? 

When  they  appeared,  three  steps  from  me,  and  saw  me, 

I  trembled,  yet  not  for  myself.    Perverseness ! 

For  him  I  trembled! 
Leander. 

O  may  I  believe  it? 
Hero. 

Speak  not!    And  touch  me  not!     That  is  not  right 

Which  so  perverts  our  very  inmost  nature. 

Extinguishes  the  light  the  gods  have  given. 

To  lead  us  as  the  polar  star  does  lead 

The  miariner. 
Leander. 

And  that  thou  callest  bad? 

The  whole  world  blesses  it  and  sings  its  praise. 

And  love  they  call  it. 
Hero. 

Then  thou,  too,  poor  youth. 

Thou,  too,  didst  learn  that  strange  and  varied  word. 

And  thou  dost  say  it,  and  thou  call'st  thee  happy? 

(Touching  his  head.) 

And  must  thou  swim  through  all  the  raging  sea, 

Where  death  in  every  drop?    And  when  thou  com^st, 

Await  thee  spying  men,  and  murderers — 

(She  starts  with  a  shudder,  as  she  glances  backward.) 
Leander  (jumping  up). 

What  is  it? 


DES  MEEEES  UND  DEE  LIEBE  WELLEN      267  \ 
Hero, 

O  each  sound  betokens  danger!  \ 

My  knees  are  trembling.  I 

Leander.  i 

Hero,  Hero,  Hero!  I 

Hero.                                                                  '  I 

Refrain,  and  touch  me  not!    Thou  must  away,  j 

Myself  shall  lead  thee  where  the  path  is  safe;  \ 

For  if  they  came,  and  found  thee  here  and  caught  thee —  j 

{She  clings  to  the  hacJc  of  the  chair  for  support.)  j 

Leander.  | 
And  may  I,  maiden,  come  again? 

Hero. 

Thou  come? 

Leander.  I 

Thou  say'st  then,  never,  never  for  all  time?  I 

Hast  thou  well  weighed  the  horror  of  the  word?  I 

And  wilt  thou  not  desire  to  know  my  fate?  / 

Through  roaring  breakers  leads  my  way  from  here,  j 

Wilt  thou  not  trembling  fear  I  sank  and  died  1 

If  silence  follows  me?  i 

Hero.  j 

Then  send  me  word.  I 

Leander.  | 

No  word  can  come  but  what  I  bring  myself.  ii 

Hero.  j 

Come  then,  thou  welcome  messenger,  O  come!  j 

But  not  to  this,  this  place  of  death.     See  there  1 

A  sandy  stretch  reach  out  into  the  sea,  ' 
Come  hither  then,  a  bush  will  hide  thy  form, 
And  passing,  shall  I  hear  what  thou  wilt  say. 

Leander.  J 

But  here  this  lamp — keep  bright  its  friendly  glow,  ^ 

To  lead  to  blissful  goal  my  safe  return.  -j 

But  when  may  I  come  back?     O  Hero,  si)eak!  j 


268     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

Hero. 

When  next  the  festive  day — 

Leander. 

O  jest  not  thus! 
Say  when. 
Hero. 

When  full  the  moon  appears  anew. 
Leander. 

Till  ten  eternal  days  have  dragged  their  length! 
Canst  thou  so  long  support  a  doubt?     Not  I. 
My  fears  will  make  me  think  my  steps  are  known. 
Thou  wilt  believe  me  dead,  and  rightly  so, 
For  if  the  sea  shall  mercifully  spare, 
.  Then  anxious  longing  shall  my  life  consume. 
In  two  days.  Hero,  say;  say  then  in  three, 
Say  next  week.  Hero ! 
Hero. 

Come  to-morrow,  then. 
Leander. 

O  bliss !    O  happiness ! 
Hero.  And  when,  Leander, 

Thou  swimm'st  the  sea,  at  night,  as  when  thou  camest. 
Guard  carefully  this  head  and  guard  this  mouth. 
And  these  my  eyes.    O  hear'st  thou  what  I  say? 
Give  me  thy  promise. 

{8he  draws  hack,  as  he  tries  to  embrace  her.) 
No,  no!    Follow  me! 
I'll  lead  thee. 

(She  goes  to  the  table,  to  fetch  the  lamp.) 
Leander. 

O  sublime,  divinest  woman! 
Hero. 

Why  com'st  thou  not? 
Leander. 

And  am  I  thus,  athirst. 
To  leave  this  consecrated,  blissful  spot 


DES  MEERES  UND  DEE  LIEBE  WELLEN      269 

Without  a  sign  of  thy  affection,  some  poor  pledge 

To  quench  the  longing  that  consumes  my  soul? 
Hero. 

What  meanest  thou? 
Leander. 

Giv'st  thou  not  at  least  thy  hand 

And  then — then  seeks  the  thirsty  lip  the  lip — 

As  I  have  seen  it — and  they  whisper  low 

What  is  too  precious  for  the  wanton  air. 

My  mouth  be  mouth,  and  thine  be  only  ear ! 

Lend  me  thine  ear,  and  hear  what  dumb  I  speak! 
Hero. 

That  must  not  be. 
Leander. 

Must  I  dare  all,  nought  thou  ? 

I  facing  danger,  death,  thou  e'er  refusing? 

{With  childish  petulance,) 

If  sadly  I  depart,  I'll  surely  sink. 
Hero. 

Tempt  not  the  gods! 

Leander. 

And  thou  withhold  not,  maid  I 
Hero. 

If,  then,  thou  go'st — 
Leander  {dropping  upon  his  knees). 

1  do! 
Hero. 

And  wilt  not  say 
That  with  too  light  a  hand  thy  cheek  I  touched. 
But  gently  and  in  grateful  mood  obeyest — 
Leander. 

Dost  thou  delay? 
Hero. 

Fold  then  thy  arms  behind. 
Like  to  a  prisoner,  the  pris'ner  of  my  love. 


270     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Leander. 

See,  it  is  done. 
Hero  {putting  the  lamp  on  the  floor). 

The  lamp  is  not  to  see  it. 
Leander. 

Still  dost  thou  tarry. 
Hero. 

Art  thou  so  impatient? 
Then  never  shall — and  yet,  if  it  rejoice  thee — 
Take  this,  and  give! 

(She  kisses  him  quickly.) 
And  now  thou  must  away! 
Leander  (jumping  up). 

Hero ! 
Hero. 

No,  no! 

(She  hurries  away.) 
Leander. 

If  I  beseech  thee,  Hero! 
O  jealous  fate!     Ill-starred! 

(He  listens  at  the  door.) 
But  I  hear  steps, 
They  are  her  steps,  and  they  approach  the  door. 
She  walks  on  tiptoe —     She  returns!    Ye  gods! 

(The  curtain  falls.) 

After  a  climax  such  as  this,  which  closes  the  third  act,  no 
further  heightening  of  dramatic  effect  is  possible.  The 
fourth  act,  the  scenes  of  which  follow  upon  the  night  in  the 
tower,  does  not  inspire  the  breathless  interest  with  which 
the  spectator  has  witnessed  the  rapid  unfolding  of  a  pas- 
sion doomed  to  end  in  the  surrender  of  the  virgin  priest- 
ess to  woman's  destiny.  The  guardian  of  the  temple  has 
seen  a  stranger  plunge  into  the  sea,  and  Hero  "scarce  three 
steps  away."    He  tells  the  priest  of  his  discovery  and  his 


DES  MEERES  UND  DER  LIEBE  WELLEN      271 

suspicions.  All  nature  seemed  strangely  agitated  during 
the  night.  jSTo  breeze  was  stirring,  and  yet  the  leaves 
whispered  to  each  other,  and  the  waves  beat  more  loudly 
against  the  shore,  and  knowing  looked  the  stars.  The 
tower,  from  which  shone  a  light,  was  the  centre  of  all  this 
restlessness. 

"A  half  revealed  secret  seemed  the  night." 

When  the  priest  finally  enters  the  tower,  to  find  the  solu- 
tion of  the  mystery,  he  meets  lanthe  arrayed  in  festive 
attire.  He  sends  for  Hero.  lanthe  admits  having  heard 
strange  noises  at  Hero's  door. 

Uneasy  was  I,  lonely,  and  I  went 

To  see  if  she  had  heard,  uneasy  like  myseK. 

Hero  is  undismayed  by  the  priest's  direct  assertion  that 
a  stranger  had  entered  the  tower,  and  she  arouses  his  ire 
by  the  jesting  reply: 

Well,  then  perhaps  'twas  one  of  those  above. 
Thou  often  said'st:  In  days  of  long  ago 
A  god  would  come  to  visit  blessed  mortals; 
To  Leda  came  he. 

She  says,  in  explanation  of  her  distracted  ways, 

I  recognize  that  much  of  what  does  happen 
Concerns  me  nearly,  yes,  perhaps  most  near. 
Yet  do  I  grasp  it  not.    My  mind  is  gloomy, 
I  must  have  time  to  thinly. 

But  before  she  retires  to  seek  sorely  needed  rest,  the 
priest  commands  her  to  go  on  various  errands,  whose  sole 
purpose  is  to  lull  her  into  a  feeling  of  security,  and  to 


272     GEILLPAEZEE  AKD  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

fatigue  her  to  the  point  of  exhaustion.  The  scene  changes 
to  Abjdos.  JSTaukleros  knocks  at  Leander's  door,  which  he 
finds  closed.  Leander  returns  with  dripping  clothes,  which 
tell  the  tale  of  his  nightly  adventure.  His  friend  vainly 
locks  the  exhausted  swimmer  in  his  cabin,  in  the  endeavor 
to  prevent  him  from  repeating  during  the  coming  night 
his  foolhardy  attempt.  Leander,  with  renewed  strength, 
escapes,  unshaken  in  his  determination  to  swim  the  Helles- 
pont. Hero  has  returned  to  the  tower,  and  trims  the  lamp 
which  is  to  send  its  friendly  glow  to  Abydos'  shore.  She 
sits  down  near  the  entrance  to  the  tower,  to  watch  and 
wait. 

Here  will  I  seat  me,  and  guard  well  thy  light, 

No  envious  gust  thy  kindly  ray  shall  stifle. 

Here  it  is  cool,  the  tower  is  close  and  drowsy. 

The  air  there  heavily  might  press  my  lids. 

That  shall  not  be.    I  must  remain  awake. 

They  have  throughout  the  long  day  plagued  me  sore. 

And  kept  me  going,  not  without  an  aim, 

But  why  and  wherefore  I  cannot  divine. 

{Her  head  drops  upon  her  hand.) 
Yet  care  I  not !    When  clear  will  be  my  brow 
I  may  know  why.    And  then — e'en  though — if  but — 

{She  starts  up,) 
.What  is't?    Who  comes?    Alone  I  am.     The  wind 
Blows  sharper  from  the  sea.     'Tis  better  so. 
For  sooner  shall  my  love  be  driven  here. 
The  lamp  burns  brightly  still.    Fie,  who  would  dream? 

And  welcoming  the  night  wind,  which  fans  her  cheek 
with  sweet  messages  from  her  lover,  she  falls  asleep.  And 
thus  the  priest  and  the  guardian  of  the  temple  find  her. 
The  former  enters  the  tower. 


DES  MEEEES  UKD  DEE  LIEBE  WELLEN      273 

Guardian, 

What  wills  he  ?  Anxious  dread  oppresses  me. 
Had  I  not  spoken—  Yet  what  could  I  do? 
I  see  there  fishermen  pass  with  their  nets. 

(Turning  to  the  right.) 
What  is  your  purpose?    Were  you  not  commanded 
To  keep  away  to-night  from  sea  and  shore, 
Securely  locked  within  your  sheltering  huts  ? 

(Returning,) 
They  say  a  storm  is  near.    Best  know  the  gods ! 

(Looking  up  to  the  tower,) 
Who  moves  the  lamp  ?    'Tis  he !    O  wretched  maid ! 
She  wakes  ?    No !    Does  no  kindly  dream  then  warn  thee  ? 

Hero  stirs,  breathing  heavily,  and  then  sinks  into  deeper 
slumber.     Darkness  has  set  in. 

Priest  (returning  and  approaching  the  spot  where  Hero  sleeps). 
Ye  gods  inscrutable,  your  will  be  done! 
The  sea  restrains,  and  sleep  enfolds,  the  guilty. 
And  thus  your  priest  his  mission  has  fulfilled. 
Piled  is  the  wood,  the  axe  in  readiness, 
I  turn  to  go.    Strike  ye,  ye  gods,  the  victim! 

The  following  morning  witnesses  the  closing  scenes, 
lanthe  finds  Hero  distractedly  staring  at  the  sea.  She 
was  awakened  during  the  night  by  the  storm,  and  found 
the  lamp  extinguished.  She  now  seeks  consolation  in  the 
thought  that  the  gods  mercifully  extinguished  the  light 
before  Leander  could  brave  the  raging  sea.  lanthe  notices 
that  the  bush  at  the  base  of  the  tower  is  broken,  and  that 
the  falten  branches  half  conceal  a  veil,  resembling  Hero's 
own.  She  lifts  the  branches ;  they  disclose  Leander's  body. 
Hero's  cry  of  anguish  attracts  the  priest  to  the  spot.  He 
enjoins  silence  upon  lanthe. 


274     GEILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  MAMA 

A  stranger  is  the  man,  unknown  to  us, 
Cast  by  the  sea  upon  this  shore  by  chance, 
And  yonder  priestess  sank  down  near  his  body; 
For  he  was  human,  and  she  found  him  dead. 

Hero  now  openlv  proclaims  her  grief,  as  well  as  the 
happiness  that  was  hers,  and  she  accuses  herself  to  Nau- 
kleros,  who  has  come  to  look  for  Leander,  of  being  the  cause 
of  his  death. 

O,  he  was  all  in  all !    What  now  remains 

Is  shadows,  and  they  vanish  into  nothing. 

His  breath  the  air  was,  and  his  eye  the  sun. 

His  body  was  the  force  of  budding  nature. 

His  life  was  life,  mine  and  thy  own  as  well. 

The  life  of  all  the  world.    We  let  it  die, 

And  died  with  it.     Come,  thou  forgetful  friend. 

Come,  let  us  follow  our  own  corpses  now. 

Thou  hast  two  dresses,  and  thy  friend  has  none. 

Give  me  thy  dress,  and  we  shall  bury  him. 

The  body  is  brought  into  the  temple  before  being  sur- 
rendered to  Naukleros.  Hero  takes  final  leave  of  Leander 
and,  broken-hearted,  sinks  down  at  his  bier,  united  to  her 
lover  in  death. 

"Des  Meeres  and  der  Liebe  Wellen"  presents  within  its 
Greek  framework  a  love  story  so  simple  and  moving  as  to 
appeal  to  an  audience  as  wide  as  the  universe.  "Grill- 
parzer,"  says  Ehrhard,  "has  produced  works  more  power- 
ful and  ample  and  richer  in  thought,  but  none  which  gives 
in  the  same  degree  the  impression  of  enchanting'  perfec- 
tion. In  many  respects  ^Des  Meeres  und  der  Liebe  Wellen' 
reminds  one  of  the  best  tragedies  of  Racine,  but  of  a  Ra- 
cine who  commands  all  the  resources  of  romanticism,  and 


BES  MEEEES  UXD  DEE  LIEBE  WELLEN     275 

whose  eye  not  only  searches  the  depths  of  the  human  soul, 
but  fastens  upon  the  outward  form  of  men  and  things." 
One  of  the  finest  scenes  of  the  play,  full  of  this  essential 
truth  to  inner  life  and  outward  circumstance,  that  in  which 
Hero  places  the  lamp  on  the  floor,  lest  it  see  the  kiss  which 
she  bestows  on  Leander,  is  reproduced  from  an  actual  ex- 
perience of  the  poet^s.  In  his  diary  of  the  year  1819  there 
is  this  entry,  made  with  a  view  to  possible  dramatic  use: 
"N^ote  that  she*  was  in  bad  humor  the  entire  evening,  dis- 
dainful and  almost  rude.  When  I  was  about  to  leave, 
however,  she  put  the  lamp  down  on  the  floor  and  ex- 
claimed :  ^I  must  embrace  you,'  throwing  at  the  same  time 
her  arms  around  my  neck  and  pressing  me  to  her  heart 
with  all  the  ardor  of  passionate  desire.  Study  this  char- 
acter carefully.  A  poet  will  not  easily  find  a  more  inter- 
esting one.''  As  a  scarcely  less  direct  example  of  self- 
revelation  we  may  cite  these  lines  from  another  famous 
passage  in  the  play : 

Concentred  thought?    Spoke  thus  mere  accident? 
Or  didst  thou  fully  grasp  its  meaning,  child? 
The  word  thou  utter'st  balm  is  to  my  ear. 
For  thou  hast  named  the  world's  prodigious  lever. 
Which  raises  what  is  great  a  thousand  fold, 
And  moves  the  smallest  closer  to  the  stars. 
The  hero's  deed,  the  poet's  holy  song. 
The  seer's  vision,  and  the  hand  of  gods — 
Attention  rapt  conceives  or  comprehends  them; 
Distraction  idly  mocks  what  ne'er  it  grasps. 

•Charlotte    von     Paumgarten,  who  is  mentioned  later  on. 


XII 


GEIIXPARZER  AIS^D  HIS  FEIETTDS 

The  fate  of  "Hero  und  Leander"  (as  the  play  is  popu- 
larly called)  affected  but  little  the  official  position  of  its 
author.  With  the  death  of  his  friend  Count  Stadion,  every 
prospect  of  his  advancement  in  the  bureau  of  the  ministry 
of  finance  vanished.  As  Faulhammer  says,  "he  was  con- 
sidered the  greatest  poet  among  the  Austrian  officials  in  the 
department  of  finance,  and  nothing  else.  Grillparzer, 
however,  complained  that  he  was  ignored  precisely  because 
of  his  literary  fame.  Perhaps  both  the  petty  official  and  his 
superiors  were  not  entirely  wrong.  In  the  year  1818,  when 
Grillparzer  travelled  in  Italy,  in  the  retinue  of  the  Em- 
peror Francis,  it  was  thought  that  Austria  was  approach- 
ing the  dawn  of  that  blissful  era  when  king  and  poet  were 
to  be  equals.  But  how  quickly  did  that  dream  vanish! 
Grillparzer,  with  all  his  love  of  conntry  and  his  loyalty  to 
the  state,  remained  throughout  his  life  true  to  the  convic- 
tion that  the  arts  ought  never  to  degrade  themselves  to  the 
position  of  handmaid  to  the  government.  The  reign  of 
Francis  I.  had  no  respect  for  the  ideal  treasures  of  man- 
kind, and  Grillparzer,  who  in  spite  of  his  greatness  as 
a  poet  was  not  easy  to  deal  with  as  a  man,  proved  an  awk- 
ward stumbling  block  in  the  path  of  statesmen,  not  least 
of  all  because  the  petty  official  was  a  European  celebrity, 
and  as  such  a  silent  reproach  to  the  Austrian  Government." 


GRILLPARZER  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  277 

In  1831  the  position  of  Director  of  the  Imperial  Ar- 
chives became  vacant,  and  Grillparzer  decided  to  apply  for 
it.  His  petition  is  notable  for  the  display  of  that  lofty 
self-consciousness  which,  with  all  his  habitual  modesty, 
never  failed  him  on  the  proper  occasion.  He  wrote:  "I 
have  a  right  to  some  consideration.  Boastfulness  was 
never  the  greatest  of  my  faults.  My  outward  position 
would  be  different  had  I  understood  the  art  of  always 
making  suitable  display  of  whatever  merits  I  may  possess. 
But  to  be  unconscious  of  one's  worth  is  to  class  one's  self 
with  the  foolish  and  the  faint-hearted.  Through  my 
literary  labors  I  have  honored  my  country,  and  if  every- 
body owes  a  debt  to  his  country,  I  may  also  claim  that 
mine  is  to  some  slight  extent  indebted  to  me.  Other  states 
have  academies,  literary  positions  and  salaried  places  of 
various  kinds  open  as  reward  for  literary  labors ;  Austria, 
perhaps  justly,  has  none  of  these.  ...  I  apply  for  the 
vacant  position  because  I  am  amply  able  to  fill  it  and,  I 
may  candidly  say,  fill  it  better  than  any  of  my  competi- 
tors.'' 

The  position  was  given  to  him,  in  January,  1832,  not  so 
much  because  the  state  recognized  the  justice  of  his  claims, 
as  because  he  was  virtually  the  only  available  applicant. 
None  of  his  colleagues  in  office  cared  for  it,  as  the  promo- 
tion precluded  all  prospect  of  further  advancement.  A 
monograph  devoted  to  Grillparzer's  activity  as  director  of 
the  archives  (Gerson  WoK's  ^•'Grillparzer  als  Archiv- 
director")  tells  us  that  the  poet  did  his  work  conscien- 
tiously enough,  though  with  but  little  inward  satisfaction. 
"The  scholars  who  resorted  to  the  archives  in  connection 
with  their  studies  were  received  by  him  as  amiably  or 


278     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  TRE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

rather  unamiably  as  was  then  customary  in  institutions  of 
this  kind." 

After  the  death  of  his  friend  Schreyvogel,  in  1832, 
Grillparzer's  relations  with  the  Burgtheater  practically 
ceased.  The  new  director,  Deinhardstein,  showed  no  com- 
prehension of  his  genius.  He  had  no  intimate  friends, 
aside  from  the  Frohlich  sisters,  in  whose  company  he  spent 
all  his  evenings.  Katharina,  however,  was  no  longer  his 
fiancee.  She  had  been  such  for  five  years,  but  in  1826, 
when  preparations  for  the  wedding  were  being  made,  one 
of  their  frequent  quarrels  ended  in  a  rupture.  It  is  im- 
possible to  deny  that  the  principal  cause  of  this  alienation 
lay  in  the  inconsistencies  of  Grillparzer's  own  character. 
He  loved  Katharina,  or  Kathi,  as  he  familiarly  called  her, 
deeply,  even  passionately,  but  as  he  himself  confessed,  in  a 
letter  to  his  friend  Altmiitter,  he  was  "incapable  of  true 
love."  He  reproached  himself  for  his  changing  moods. 
"After  a  day  of  the  most  glowing  tenderness,"  he  wrote, 
"there  may  easily  follow,  without  any  particular  cause, 
one  of  complete  estrangement."  "I  believe  I  am  not  wrong 
in  saying  that  I  love  in  the  object  of  my  affection  only  the 
image  drawn  by  my  fancy,  so  that  the  reality  is  enchanting 
only  as  long  as  it  agrees  with  my  conception,  but  becomes 
all  the  more  repelling  if  it  deviates  ever  so  little  from  the 
image  I  have  formed.  Can  this  be  called  love  ?  Pity  me 
and  her,  who  so  richly  deserves  to  be  loved  for  her  real 
self." 

Katharina,  on  the  other  hand,  with  all  her  native  good- 
ness and  charm,  had  certain  faults  of  temperament  which 
rendered  her  unfit  to  become  the  wife  of  the  sensitive  poet. 
She  was  given  to  outbursts  of  jealousy — not,  it  must  be 


GEILLPAEZER  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  279 

admitted,  without  serious  provocation  on  his  part — ^in- 
clined to  be  headstrong,  and  without  a  full  appreciation  of 
the  requirements  of  his  inmost  nature.  He  was  essentially 
a  solitary  being,  and  though  he  speaks  of  himself  in  his 
autobiography  as  possessing  "something  conciliatory  and 
yielding  which  made  me  only  too  prone  to  abandon  myself 
to  the  guidance  of  others,"  he  more  than  once  lays  stress 
on  the  necessity  of  preserving  intact  his  liberty  of  action. 
"I  could  not  brook  interference  even  had  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  it.  In  married  life  I  should  have  had  to  remain 
single,  forgetting  that  my  wife  was  a  different  being  from 
myself,  though  I  should  gladly  have  taken  my  part  in  those 
mutual  concessions  which  banish  discord.  But  to  be  one 
of  two  in  the  real  meaning  of  the  word  was  impossible  to 
my  solitary  nature.  Once,  indeed,  it  seemed  as  though 
such  a  union  was  to  be  founded,  but  the  tie  was  broken, 
God  knows  through  no  fault  of  mine." 

In  one  of  his  most  striking  poems,  "  Jugenderinnerungen 
im  Griinen"  (Kecollections  of  My  Youth,  Composed 
Among  the  Trees),  Grillparzer  thus  speaks  of  the  fatal  an- 
tagonism between  their  natures : 

"Im  Glutumfassen  stiirzten  wir  zusammen, 
Ein  jeder  Schlag  gab  Eunken  und  gab  Licht; 
Doch  unzerstorbar  fanden  uns  die  Flammen, 
Wir  gliihten,  aber  ach,  wir  schmolzen  nicht. 
Denn  Halften  kann  man  aneinander  passen, 
Ich  war  ein  Ganzes,  und  auch  sie  war  ganz." 

(Our  glowing  souls  sped  on  to  closest  union. 
Each  contact  drew  forth  fire  and  gave  out  light  j 
Eut  unconsumed  our  burning  passion  left  us. 
We  were  aflame,  but  could  not  fuse  aright.. 


280     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

For  halves  may  unto  halves  be  mated, 

But  I  was  whole,  and  whole  she  was  created.) 

And  truly  pathetic  are  the  concluding  lines : 

"Doch  all  umsonst,  trotz  Ringen,  Stiirmen,  Weinen, 
Sie  blieb  ein  Weib,  und  ich  war  immer  ich! 
******* 

Da  ward  ich  hart.     Im  ew'gen  Spiel  der  Winde, 
Im  Wettersturm,  wo  Sonne  nie  durchblickt, 
Umzog  das  stark're  Baumchen  aich  mit  Rinde, 
Das  schwach're  neigte  sich  und  ward  zerknickt." 

(In  vain,  despite  each  struggle,  tear  and  sigh, 

A  woman  she  remained,  as  I  was  ever  I. 

And  when  departed  hope  no  longer  found  me, 

A  lonely  tree,  wrapped  in  the  tempest's  gloom, 

I  drew  the  hard,  protecting  bark  around  me. 

While  bent  the  weaker  tree  and,  breaking,  met  its  doom.) 

Perhaps,  in  the  last  analysis,  the  key  to  Grillparzer's 
final  refusal  to  wed  Katharina  must  be  sought  in  that  irres- 
oluteness  and  lack  of  self-confidence  concerning  the  prac- 
tical affairs  of  life  which  were  among  his  characteristic 
weaknesses.  "I  hadn't  courage  enough  to  marry"  (I  haV 
mi  net  traut),  as  he  confided  to  a  friend,  in  that  quaint 
Viennese  dialect  which  he  used  in  familiar  conversation. 
Whatever  may  have  been  his  motive  in  deciding  to  remain 
single,  the  final  rupture  between  the  lovers  nearly  broke 
Katharina' s  heart.  When  he  left  her,  after  an  outburst  of 
jealousy  on  her  part  which  her  sisters  described  as  terrific, 
she  fell  violently  ill.  Even  after  her  recovery,  though 
she  recognized  that  marriage  was  impossible,  the  thought 
of  losing  Grillparzer  forever  was  so  unendurable  to  her 


GRILLPARZER  AIN^D  HIS  FRIENDS  281 

that  her  sisters  feared  she  could  not  survive  a  total  sepa- 
ration. They  hoped  that  it  might  still  be  possible  to  estab- 
lish at  least  relations  of  friendship  between  them,  and  they 
implored  Grillparzer  not  to  abandon  her  whose  love  for 
him  was  undying.  Though  his  own  feelings  had  changed 
— "My  love  is  dead ;  I  should  be  only  too  willing  to  revive 
it,  but  I  can't" — he  consented  to  a  compromise  which  could 
not  restore  happiness  to  Katharina,  while  it  forced  him  in- 
to an  attitude  of  doubtful  resignation.  He  returned  to  her 
as  a  friend,  and  as  such  he  was  true  to  her  for  the  rest 
of  his  life. 

However  indifferent  Grillparzer  was  to  public  notoriety 
and  to  conventional  social  distinctions,  he  craved  the  stimu- 
lus of  judicious  recognition  from  kindred  souls.  He  said 
of  himself:  "There  is  something  of  Tasso  in  me,  not  of 
Goethe's  Tasso,  but  of  the  Tasso  of  reality.  I  ought  to  have 
been  coddled,  that  is  to  say,  as  a  poet.  As  a  man  I  know 
how  to  adapt  myself  to  any  kind  of  condition,  and  shall 
never  be  found  untrue  to  myself.  But  the  poet  within  me 
needs  a  congenial  element,  otherwise  my  soul  contracts  and 
becomes  unresponsive."  Fortunately,  there  gathered  about 
him,  at  the  beginning  of  the  thirties,  a  small  circle  of 
chosen  spirits,  who  looked  up  to  him  as  their  master,  and 
in  whose  company  he  passed  some  of  the  happiest  hours  of 
his  life.  The  most  devoted  of  these  disciples  was  Eduard 
von  Bauernfeld,  at  first  known  as  a  lyric  poet,  but  subse- 
quently and  down  to  his  death,  in  1890,  perhaps  the  most 
successful  writer  of  comedies  for  the  Austrian  and  German 
stages.  He  understood  and  depicted  to  perfection  Viennese 
life  of  the  upper  classes,  and  his  plays,  lightly  constructed 
but  full  of  animation  and  sparkle,  delighted  and  held  the 


282     GKILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

public  of  the  Burgtheater  that  had  turned  with  indiffer- 
ence from  the  master  works  of  Grillparzer.  Other  mem- 
bers of  the  informal  literary  club  which  had  its  headquar- 
ters at  a  well-known  restaurant,  "Beim  Stern  auf  der 
Brandstatte/'  were  the  philosopher  Feuchtersleben,  the 
painter  Schwind,  the  actor  and  dramatist  Baimund,  the 
liberal  abbot  Enk,  the  Germanic  scholar  Karajan,  and 
other  Austrian  celebrities.  Ileinrich  Laube,  subse- 
quently director  of  the  Burgtheater,  who  did  so  much  to 
revive  public  interest  in  Grillparzer's  plays,  describes  in 
his  "Reisenovellen"  one  of  the  evening  meetings  of  the 
club  at  the  ^^Star,"  which  he  attended  as  a  guest.  Grill- 
parzer presided  at  the  table. 

"He  wears  a  short  green  coat,  is  very  simple  in  ap- 
pearance, and  appears  a  trifle  over-polite.  His  well- 
formed  face  would  scarcely  strike  one  in  a  crowd  if  one 
did  not  know  whose  it  was.  Its  most  characteristic 
features  are  a  fine  faultless  nose,  a  suggestion  of  the 
Hapsburg  lower  lip,  blue  eyes,  questioning  like  those  of 
a  child,  and  a  gentle,  placid  expression,  not  free  from 
melancholy.  The  corners  of  the  mouth  betray  many  an 
hour  of  deep  anxiety.    He  speaks  in  a  soft,  flexible  voice." 

At  the  meeting  which  Laube  attended,  says  Faulhammer, 
the  conversation  turned  on  the  contents  of  a  recent  number 
of  the  Europe  Litteraire,  which  Bauernfeld  read  aloud, 
and  on  Euripides,  whom  Grillparzer  defended  with  the  ut- 
most warmth.  "He  also  manifested  great  interest  in 
Heine  and  praised  his  opinions  concerning  German  litera- 
ture. He  was  particularly  glad  that  Heine  criticized  Tieck 
and  the  romanticists  so  sharply.  .  .  .  Such  were  the  even- 
ing gatherings  at  the  'Star,'  those  timid  Austrian  reform 


GEILLPARZER  AXD  HIS  FRIENDS  283 

banquets  that  afforded  Grillparzer  an  opportunity  of  com- 
municating his  rich  intellectual  treasures  to  his  companions 
at  the  table.  The  society  was  characterized  by  complete 
informality,  but  the  younger^^neration  treated  the  man  of 
forty,  who  liked  to  assume  the  airs  of  the  experienced  sage, 
with  becoming  deference.  He  appeared  amused  or  bored, 
as  suited  his  fancy,  and  no  one  objected.  He  was  always 
gladly  taken  just  as  he  was.  Gradually  his  melancholy  left 
him,  and  the  satirical  trait,  which  had  already  been  ap- 
parent in  the  boy,  found  ample  scope  during  these 
symposia." 

Grillparzer  cultivated  during  that  happy  period  his  in- 
nate love  of  music.  He  sang  on  Sundays  and  holidays  in 
the  choir  of  the  church  Am  Hof ,  and  published  several  com- 
positions for  the  piano.  The  new  hall  of  the  Vienna 
Gesellschaft  der  Musikfreunde  (Society  of  Music  Lovers) 
was  opened  in  1833  by  a  festive  hymn  whose  words  were 
written  by  him,  and  in  1834  he  took  a  leading  part  in  a 
celebration,  in  the  same  place,  in  honor  of  Goethe  and 
Beethoven,  contributing  both  to  the  musical  and  literary 
features  of  the  occasion. 


XIII 


DEB  TEAUM  EIIT  LEBEIT 


On  the  4tli  of  October,  1834,  Grillparzer  scored  one 
of  the  most  complete  successes  of  his  life  in  the  first 
performance,  at  the  Burgtheater,  of  his  ^^Der  Traum  ein 
Leben"  (The  Dream,  a  Life),  a  dramatic  fairy  story.  He 
had  handed  the  play  to  Schreyvogel  in  1831,  simultane- 
ously with  the  manuscript  of  ^^Des  Meeres  und  der  Liebe 
Wellen,"  but  his  friend  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  title, 
which  seemed  to  challenge  comparison  with  Calderon's 
"Life's  a  Dream,"  a  drama  he  had  himself  so  admirably 
adapted  for  the  German  stage.  The  sub-title  first  chosen 
was  "a  spectacular  play,"  in  conformity  with  the  fashion 
of  the  day  which  delighted  in  the  fantastic  fairy  comedies 
of  Raimund.  Schreyvogel  hesitated  to  produce  the  play, 
and  Grillparzer  withdrew  it.  After  Schreyvogel's  death, 
Bauernfeld,  to  whom  Grillparzer  had  referred  the  manu- 
script for  his  opinion,  and  who  felt  sure  of  the  success  of 
the  play,  handed  it  to  the  new  director  of  the  Burgtheater, 
Deinhardstein,  who  kept  it  nearly  two  years  before  putting 
it  on  the  stage. 

The  beginning  of  "Der  Traum  ein  Leben"  dates  back  to 
1817,  when  Grillparzer  wrote  the  first  act  oi  a  play  which 
he  called  "Des  Lebens  Schattenbild"  (Life's  Shadow  Pic- 
tures). The  actor  to  whom  he  told  the  story  of  the  drama, 
and  who  was  to  have  played  the  part  of  the  negro  Zanga, 
objected  to  appearing  with  a  blackened  face,  and  communi- 
cated the  plot  to  another  dramatist,  who  made  use  of  the 


DER  TRAUM  EIN  LEBEN  285 

idea  for  a  play  of  his  own.  This  was  produce3^  in  1818, 
and  found  other  imitators.  Grillparzer  contented  himself 
with  printing  his  act  in  a  dramatic  almanac,  but  he  re- 
turned to  his  plot  in  1829,  and  finished  the  play  two  years 
later.  Although  the  idea  was  probably  suggested  by 
Calderon^s  '^La  vida  es  sueno,"  Grillparzer's  drama  owes 
its  existence  in  part  to  his  study  of  Lope  de  Vega,  to  two 
of  whose  comedies  it  bears,  in  certain  scenes,  a  striking 
resemblance.  The  central  idea,  however,  was  confessedly 
founded  on  Voltaire's  story  "Le  Blanc  et  le  E'oir." 

The  hero  of  Grillparzer's  play,  whose  name,  Rustan,  is 
borrowed  from  Voltaire,  is  an  ambitious  youth,  who  on  the 
eve  of  attaining  humble  domestic  happiness  through  his 
marriage  to  a  lovely  maiden,  is  goaded  on  by  his  negro  slave 
Zanga  to  a  life  of  wild  and  daring  adventure,  that  is  to 
result  in  boundless  glory.  These  adventures  are  shown  us 
in  Rustan's  dream.  He  falls  asleep  in  his  uncle's  lowly 
cabin,  and  the  deeds  and  crimes  which  his  troubled  dreams 
conjure  up  are  placed  before  the  spectator  in  an  almost 
bewildering  series  of  exciting  incidents.  At  last,  when 
about  to  meet  with  just  retribution  for  his  crimes  and  to 
plunge  into  a  watery  grave,  Rustan  is  suddenly  restored  to 
his  couch,  upon  which  he  uneasily  turns.  The  images  that 
have  haunted  him  disappear ;  he  awakens  and  realizes  that 
he  has  but  dreamed.  He  returns  to  his  betrothed,  dis- 
misses his  evil  genius,  and  forever  renounces  tEe  treacher- 
OTis  paths  of  ambition. 

"Life  bestows  a  single  treasure: 
Quiet  peace  for  guileless  hearts. 
Spurn  ambition's  reckless  pleasure, 
Idle  glory's  empty  arts." 


/ 


286     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

"Der  Traum  ein  Leben,"  the  first  act  of  which  was  writ- 
ten soon  after  "Die  Ahnfrau/'  follows  it  closely  as  to  metre, 
and  resembles  it  also  in  other  features.  Its  melodious 
verse,  which  does  not  easily  lend  itself  to  translation, 
carries  the  reader  along  with  irresistible  impetuosity,  while 
the  spectator  is  fascinated  by  the  constant  shifting  of  scenes 
and  incidents.  The  charm  lies  in  the  spirit  and  movement 
of  the  whole  and  not,  as  is  the  case  in  most  of  the  other 
of  Grillparzer's  plays,  in  character  drawing  and  delicacy 
of  execution.  The  drama  is,  moreover,  interesting  as  a 
psychological  study  of  dream  life.  The  plot  has  all  the 
exuberance  of  the  Orient,  as  pictured  in  a  poet's  fancy. 
The  characters  come  and  go  with  the  shadowy  uncertainty 
of  dream  phantoms,  and  yet  the  whole  is  consistent  and 
dissolves  into  a  convincing  story.  Plot  and  versification 
point  unmistakably  to  the  Spanish  sources  from  which  the 
poet  so  often  derived  inspiration. 

The  extraordinary  success  which  the  play  met  with  at 
its  first  performance  was  confirmed  by  the  subsequent 
verdict  of  the  Vienna  public.  "Der  Traum  ein  Leben"  has 
been  performed  at  the  Burgtheater  more  frequently  than 
any  other  of  Grillparzer's  plays.  But  the  author  himself 
realized  that  in  the  plot  of  his  symbolical  fairy  story  he 
had  made  a  bold  choice,  "the  like  of  which/'  he  said,  "is 
permitted  to  a  writer  but  once." 


XIV 


TRAVELS  IN  FEANCE  AUB  EITGLAJSTD 

Grillparzer  was  not  long  allowed  to  enjoy  undisturbed 
the  congenial  atmosphere  of  his  literary  club.  Its  fame 
provoked  the  hostility  of  malevolent  critics,  among  whom 
M.  G.  Saphir,  a  shallow  journalistic  wit,  whose  humor- 
ous lectures  were  much  in  vogue  in  those  days,  was 
the  most  conspicuous.  Saphir,  a  man  as  vain  as  he  was 
personally  unattractive,  had  applied  for  permission  to 
join  the  society  at  the  ^^Star,"  but  was  refused,  at  the 
instance  of  Grillparzer  and  Bauernfeld,  and  never  for- 
gave the  affront.  Grillparzer  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn 
into  a  controversy  with  him,  and  proved  no  match  for 
his  unscrupulous  and  clever  antagonist.  He  refrained 
thereafter  from  taking  any  public  notice  of  journalistic 
abuse. 

His  dissatisfaction  with  existing  conditions  was  aug- 
mented under  the  regime  of  the  new  emperor,  Ferdinand, 
who  ascended  the  throne  after  the  death  of  his  father, 
on  March  2,  1835.  The  Emperor  Francis,  always  popular 
with  the  masses,  had  enjoyed  a  certain  respect  even  on  the 
part  of  the  Liberals;  the  new  government,  however,  met 
with  nothing  but  distrust.  Metternich  was  its  master  spirit, 
as  he  had  been  that  of  the  old. 

"The  party  of  opposition,'^  says  Faulhammer,  "was 
joined  by   all  the   intelligent  classes,   above   all  by  the 


288     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

younger  and  more  capable  of  the  government  officials. 
Everywhere,  in  the  home,  in  public  resorts,  in  social  circles, 
clubs,  theatres,  as  well  as  in  literary  productions,  the  spirit 
of  opposition  was  more  or  less  openly  expressed.  The 
petty  arts  of  the  secret  police  proved  impotent,  and 
merely  provoked  a  smile.  It  was  not  considered  decent  in 
Vienna  to  side  with  the  government,  so  contemptible  had 
it  become.  And  if  free  speech  was  prohibited  within  the 
empire,  there  were  enough  writers  elsewhere  who  could  say 
whatever  they  pleased,  and  tons  of  prohibited  books,  pam- 
phlets, and  journals  were  brought  across  the  frontier.  The 
younger  literary  men  of  Austria  emigrated,  and  in  Leipsic 
alone  there  was  a  colony  of  those  wasps  whose  sting  was  so 
keenly  felt  by  the  chancellor  and  his  colleagues.  Grill- 
parzer  remained  at  home.  He  punctually  attended  to  his 
official  duties,  published  not  a  line  against  the  govern- 
ment, and  yet  was  considered  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  dis- 
satisfied intellectuals.  He  stuck  manfully  to  his  post  un- 
der most  dispiriting  conditions;  but  in  order  to  live  on 
in  the  stifling  atmosphere  of  Vienna,  he  needed  to  refres^i 
himself  from  time  to  time  in  the  freer  air  of  another 
country." 

The  impressions  he  had  brought  with  him  from  Italy 
during  his  visit  in  1819  had  influenced  his  whole  life,  and 
his  experiences  in  Germany,  seven  years  later,  though  not 
equally  valuable,  had  proved  stimulating  in  various  ways. 
He  now  felt  the  desire  to  acquaint  himself  with  France 
and  England,  and  to  see  the  workings  of  those  free  institu- 
tions for  which  the  liberals  of  Austria  so  vainly  longed. 

In  the  spring  of  1836  Grillparzer  went  to  Paris. 
The  sittings   of  the   French   Chambers   interested   him 


TKAYELS  IN  FRANCE  AND  ENGLAND   289 

deeply,  but  he  was  little  attracted  by  individual  celeb- 
rities. He  wrote  in  bis  diary:  '^I  take  good  care  not 
to  visit  the  French  writers.  These  people  are  terribly  con- 
ceited; they  cannot  see  that  they  owe  two-thirds  of  their 
fame  to  the  fact  that  they  write  in  French,  the  language 
of  the  world.''  He  became,  however,  acquainted  with 
Alexandre  Dumas,  who  '^through  his  then  mistress  and 
subsequent  wife,  the  actress  Ida,  had  acquired  a  dim  idea 
of  the  ^Ahnfrau,'  for  which,  as  belonging  to  the  genre 
romantique,  he  professed  great  respect.  He  passed  among 
his  colleagues  for  a  profound  student  of  German  litera- 
ture," although  he  did  not  know  a  single  word  of  the  lan- 
guage. 

While  Grillparzer  generally  kept  aloof  from  the 
playhouses  of  Vienna,  he  went  in  Paris  almost  every  night 
to  the  theatre  or  the  opera.  Meyerbeer  showed  him  much 
attention,  but  he  was  more  at  home  in  the  modest  quar- 
ters of  Borne  and  Heine.  Heine,  then  at  the  height  of 
his  fame  and  still  in  vigorous  health,  was  so  poor  that,  as 
he  told  his  visitor,  his  library  consisted  of  but  one  book, 
which  he  had  borrowed  from  a  friend.  Grillparzer  en- 
joyed Heine's  conversation  greatly.  ^^I  have  perhaps 
never  heard  a  German  writer  talk  so  sensibly,"  he  wrote; 
but  much  as  he  admired  Heine  when  alone  with  him,  he 
was  disgusted  with  his  behavior  when  they  happened  to 
dine  together  at  the  house  of  the  banker  Eothschild.  "It 
was  evident  that  the  host  and  his  wife  were  afraid  of 
Heine,  and  knowing  this,  he  took  every  occasion  to  cover 
them  with  half -concealed  ridicule.  But  it  is  wrong  to  take 
a  meal  at  the  house  of  a  person  whom  one  does  not  respect ; 
one  cannot  play  the  part  of  guest  while  feeling  contempt 


290     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

for  the  host.  From  that  time  on  our  relations  ceased/' 
Rossini,  whom  Grillparzer  had  previously  met  in  Italy, 
was  also  one  of  the  invited  guests  on  that  occasion.  "He 
had  become  a  perfect  Frenchman,  spoke  the  language  like 
a  native,  and  was  inexhaustible  in  witty  sallies.  He  is 
famous  as  a  gourmand,  and  while  he  was  always  welcome 
as  a  friend  of  the  family,  he  had  been  invited  on  this 
particular  evening  chiefly  as  a  connoisseur  of  wines,  in 
order  to  have  him  judge  of  a  certain  brand  of  champagne 
which  the  host  thought  of  buying.'' 

In  London  Grillparzer  devoted  as  much  attention  to  the 
sittings  of  Parliament  as  to  the  theatre.  He  heard  and 
admired  Peel  and  O'Connell,  attended  an  all-night  session, 
and  was  greatly  impressed  with  the  scene.  He  described 
the  proceedings  as  '^colossal  and  entrancing."  He  was 
equally  interested  in  the  English  method  of  conducting 
public  trials,  and  contrasted  the  dignified  behavior 'of  the 
spectators  with  the  noisy  ways  of  the  public  in  French 
court  rooms.  The  prevailing  "sense  of  right  and  justice" 
strongly  appealed  to  him. 

Grillparzer  returned  to  Vienna  via  Belgium  and  Ger- 
many. In  Stuttgart  he  met  the  poet  Uhland,  whom  he 
found  as  "simple  and  good-natured  as  one  imagines  him  to 
be."  The  last  entry  in  the  diary  of  his  journey  is:  "On 
my  arrival  at  Munich  I  found  letters  with  the  news  that 
my  brother  Karl  had  left  wife,  children,  and  oflice,  and 
that  the  treasury  in  his  charge  was  empty.  He  falsely  ac- 
cused himself  of  having  committed  murder  and  showed 
all  the  symptoms  of  insanity." 


XV 

WEH  DEM^  DEB  LtlGT 

Grillpaezer's  first  care  on  his  return  to  Vienna  was  to 
vindicate  the  good  name  of  his  brother.  His  innocence  of 
any  crime  was  established,  but  he  lost  his  position,  and  he 
and  his  wife  were  thereafter  dependent  on  the  slender  purse 
of  the  poet. 

In  spite  of  the  depressing  effect  of  this  incident  Grill- 
parzer  busied  himself  with  a  new  play,  and  not  a  little 
surprise  was  felt  when  it  became  known  that  he  was  at 
work  on  a  comedy.  His  intimate  friends  indeed  had 
long  been  aware  that  he  possessed  a  good  share  of  that 
humor  which,  along  with  an  often  superficial  pessimism, 
is  the  birthright  of  every  Viennese,  and  many  an  epigram 
of  his  testified  to  the  possession  of  a  caustic  wit  whose 
sting  was  in  due  time  to  be  felt  by  more  than  one  man  high 
in  the  political,  literary  and  artistic  world  of  Austria  and 
Germany.  But  these  epigrams,  like  many  of  his  lyrical 
effusions,  slumbered  in  the  seclusion  of  his  desk,  and  the 
public  was  not  prepared  to  welcome  the  author  of  the 
sombre  "Ahnfrau"  and  "Medea"  as  the  writer  of  a 
comedy. 

"Weh  dem,  der  liigt"  (Woe  to  Him  Who  Lies)  is  a  com- 
edy in  the  sense  of  a  French  comedie  rather  than  in  that 
of  a  German  Lust  spiel.  Its  plot  lacks  what  characterizes 
Grillparzer's  other  plays — dramatic  intensity — but  it  is 


292     GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

nevertheless  a  work  of  rare  art,  rich  in  profound  thought, 
and  pointing  in  the  characters  of  Leon  and  Gregory  a  dra- 
matic contrast  of  extraordinary  effectiveness.  The  story 
is  taken  from  an  incident  in  the  life  of  Gregory  of  Tours, 
whose  young  cook  Leon,  a  lad  full  of  native  wit,  and  of 
boundless  self-confidence,  offers  to  rescue  the  bishop's 
nephew,  Atalus,  who  is  held  captive  by  a  German  knight. 
Gregory  permits  Leon  to  make  the  attempt  on  one  con- 
dition only — that  he  never  utter  an  untruth.  Leon  under- 
takes the  mission  and  succeeds,  respecting  the  letter,  while 
often  dangerously  near  violating  the  spirit,  of  his  master's 
injunction. 

The  scene  at  the  opening  of  the  play  is  a  garden  in  the 
castle  of  Dijon.  Leon,  the  kitchen-boy,  and  the  steward 
are  at  the  gate. 

Leon. 

I'm  bound  to  see  the  bishop,  come  what  may. 
Steward. 

Not  so,  say  I,  audacious  boy,  not  so. 
Leon  {drawing  his  kitchen  knife). 

This  weapon  you  shall  taste  unless  you  yield. 

Select  your  place,  I  challenge  you,  Herr  Sigrid. 
Steward  (retreating  to  the  foreground). 

Help!    Murder!     Help! 
Leon. 

Do  you  mistake  my  jest? 

But  all  the  same,  the  bishop  I  must  see. 
Stetuard. 

It  cannot  be,  for  in  the  morning  hour 

He  takes  his  airing  here,  and  meditates. 
Leon. 

Then  let  him  meditate  upon  me  first 

And  my  request,  that  now  concerns  him  most. 


WEH  DEM,  DER  LUGT                       293  'l 

i 

Steward.  J 

Thy  place  is  in  the  kitchen,  thither  go  I  j 

Leon.  i 

Indeed!     The  kitchen  say  you?    Where  is  that?  1 

If  kitchen  be  a  place  where  people  cook,  \ 

You  look  for  it  in  vain  throughout  this  castle.  j 

Where  one  cooks  not  there  is  no  kitchen,  sir ;  i 

Where  there's  no  kitchen  there's  no  cook.    You  see,  I 

That  must  the  bishop  hear,  indeed  he  shall.  1 

Yes,  I  will  tell  him — never  mind  your  frown! —  i 

For  I  say  fie  upon  such  niggard  ways!  \ 

First  they  dismiss  the  cook.    Well,  I  begin  to  think,  i 

With  proper  pride,  perhaps  they  trust  in  me ;  | 

But  scarcely  do  I  show  what  I  can  do  j 

When  they  find  all  is  dear,  oh,  much  too  dear.  j 

With  nothing  I'm  to  cook  fine  meals,  forsooth!  | 

But  yesterday  I  snatched  a  piece  of  game,  i 

Beyond  compare  delicious,  for  a  song,  ! 

Enjoying  in  advance  my  master's  joy —  ] 

Poor  feeble  man! — in  tasting  of  the  morsel.  I 

Yes,  fine  repast  there  was!    I  had  to  sell  it,  1 

Sell  at  a  sacrifice  to  some  mean  cook,  i 

Because  it  was  too  dear  and  far  too  precious.  I 

If  stinginess  this  be  not,  what  is  it?  t 

Steward.  | 

They'll  chase  you  hence,  you  master  impudent!  I 

Leon.  "" 

Chase  me?    O  no!    I'll  save  you  aU  the  trouble.  j 

I'll  go  myself.    Here  is  my  apron,  see,  j 

And  here  the  knife  which  gave  you  such  a  scare.  ^ 

(He  throws  them  both  down.)  i 
So,  there  they  lie,  and  ne'er  shall  be  picked  up. 

Look  for  another  cook  to  suit  your  fasting.  j 

Think  you,  for  money  I  have  served  your  master?  ; 

There  are  still  other  ways  and  better  ones  1 
By  which  a  fellow  such    as  I  can  live. 


294    GKILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA  I 

The  king  needs  soldiers,  and  upon  my  soul  I 

A  sword  would  not  weigh  heavy  in  this  hand.  | 

Yet,  when  I  saw  your  master  in  the  streets,  | 

With  his  white  beard  and  venerable  form,  I 
His  head  bowed  with  the  weight  of  many  years, 
And  yet  uplifted  by,  I  know  not  what, 

Though  sure  I  am  'twas  something  good  and  noble;  ] 

His  eyes  wide  open  as  if  seeing  sights  ;j 

In  some  land  distant  and  unknown  to  us,  I 

Sights  far  too  great  for  ordinary  eyes —  ] 

When  thus  I  saw  him  walking  through  our  streets,  | 

A  voice  within  me  called:    Him  must  you  serve,  1 

If  but  as  stable-boy.     And  thus  I  came  here.  j 

In  this  house,  thought  I,  reigns  God's  peace  supreme,  ] 

Though  all  the  world  may  war.    Now  that  I'm  here,  J 

I  see  how  every  piece  of  bread  he  scants,  I 

As  though  he  doomed  himself  to  die  of  hunger,  } 
How  he  counts  every  bite  that  nears  his  mouth. 

Let  watch  this  misery  who  can,  not  I!  j 

Steward.  A 

Why  carest  thou  more  for  him  than  cares  himself?  i 
Does  he  not  bear  his  age  with  sturdy  vigor? 

Leon.  t 

It  may  be  so,  but  there's  a  deeper  something,  ! 

That  sometimes  seems  to  me  as  clear  as  day,  J 

And  then  again  like  hidden  spell  pursues  me.  | 

He  was  to  me  the  sum  of  all  that's  noble,  ] 
And  now  that  I  must  see  so  base  a  spot 

As  stinginess,  a  stain  so  gross  and  foul,  | 

Upon  the  pureness  of  so  white  a  garb,  j 

Must  see  it  with  my  eyes  against  my  will —  :; 

That  is  the  thing  that  lowers  every  man,  i 

Myself,  and  you,  and  all,  in  short  the  world,  1 

Whose  very  flower  I  thought  him  all  this  while ;  ' 
This  tortures  me  beyond  my  power  to  bear. 
And  so  I  leave,  because  I  cannot  stand  it. 


WEH  DEM,  DEE  LUGT                       295  1 

Steward.  I 

And  all  this  thou  wilt  tell  him?  A 

Leon.                                                                                                    ■  \ 

Yes,  I  shaU.  \ 

Steward.  1 
This  darest  thou  do? 

Leon.  I 

O  still  more  will  I  dare  I  I 

He  has  to  purge  himself  of  guilt  before  me,  1 

Must  give  me  back  my  high  esteem  of  him;  \ 

And  will  he  not,  why,  then  good-by  to  him.  I 

Fie  and  disgrace  upon  all  stinginess !  I 

Steward.  ■ 

Thou  darest  accuse  him  thus,  the  saintly  man?  I 

Know'st  thou  not,  then,  the  poor,  the  blind  and  lame,  i 

They  are  the  purse  to  which  he  trusts  his  money?  | 

Leon.  I 

True,  much  he  gives,  and  may  God  bless  him  for  it;  j 

But  is  it  doing  good  to  give  the  poor  ^ 

When  what  you  give  leaves  poorer  still  the  giver  ?  j 

And  furthermore:  The  other  day  he  called  me,  j 

And  gave  me  money  out  of  his  huge  chest —  i 

My  weekly  stipend  for  the  kitchen  use —  ! 
But  ere  he  gave,  he  took  a  silver  coin. 
Looked  at  it  ten  times,  finally  he  kissed  it, 
And  put  it  in  a  pouch  filled  to  the  brim, 

Which  in  a  corner  of  the  chest  bulked  large.  ', 
I  ask  you  now:     Is  he  a  godly  man 

Who  kisses  money?     One  who  starves  himself,  i 

And  heaps  up  savings  in  a  bursting  pouch,  ' 
What  call  you  him?    What  call  you  such  a  man? 

I'm  not  his  cook.    I'll  leave,  and  tell  him  why.  i 

Steward.  ] 

Thou  mad  and  silly  fellow,  stay !    Thou  must !  I 

To  plague  so  kind  a  master !    And  to-day,  ^ 

i 

i 

'I 


296     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

When  burdened  most  with  sorrow  is  his  heart; 
For  just  a  year  ago  his  gentle  nephew, 
His  Atalus,  was  sent  away  to  Treves, 
A  hostage  for  the  peace  concluded  then. 
There  is  he  still,  for  war  broke  out  afresh, 
In  durance  vile  held  by  a  cruel  foe. 
Who,  to  entreaty  deaf,  refuses  ransom. 

Leon. 

My  master's  nephew? 

Steward. 

Yes,  a  year  ago. 

Leon. 

Has  no  attempt  been  made  to  set  him  free? 

Steward. 

O  more  than  one,  but  all  has  been  in  vain. 
There  comes  the  master,  lost  in  meditation. 
Go,  fellow,  step  aside,  disturb  him  not! 

Leon. 

He's  writing. 

Steward. 

A  sermon,  likely,  for  the  holiday. 

Leon. 

How  pale  he  looks! 
Steward. 

Yes,  pale  and  sorrowful. 

Leon. 

Still,  I  must  speak  to  him,  in  spite  of  all. 

Steward. 

Come,  come! 

{He  seizes  him.) 

Leon. 

Do  what  you  will.    I  shall  escape. 

(Exeunt  hoth.    The  hishop  appears  on  the  scene,  a  tablet  in  his 
hand,  making  notes  from  time  to  time.) 


WEH  DEM,  DEE  LUGT  297 

Gregory. 

Thy  language  ever  be:    Yes,  yes,  no,  no; 
For  what  there  is  of  evil  in  man's  nature. 
Of  all  that  is  unnatural  and  loathsome. 
The  worst  is  spoken  falsehood,  is  a  lie. 
Were  man  but  truthful,  he  were  also  good. 
How  else  could  sin  perpetuate  itself 
If  not  by  lying?    First  itself  deceives. 
Then  all  the  world,  then  God,  were't  possible. 
If  every  rascal  had  to  tell  himself 
When  he's  alone:    Thou  art  a  scoundrel  vile. 
Who  could  despisal  of  himself  endure? 
But  lies  that  hide  in  all  their  varied  garb, 
As  vanity  and  pride,  false  modesty. 
Again  as  generosity  and  strength. 
As  true  affection  and  high-mindedness. 
As  purpose  fair  when  bad  the  means  employed — 
/  Lies  cover  up  our  evil  countenance, 
And  interpose  themselves  with  hasty  step 
When  man  beholds  himself  in  conscience'  mirror. 
And  now  to  name  the  worst,  the  conscious  lie! 
Who'd  think  it  possible  were  it  not  so  ? 
O  man,  destroy'st  thou  thus  thy  Maker's  world? 
How  canst  thou  say:    'Tis  not,  although  it  is? 
Again:  It  is,  though  never  it  has  been? 
Dost  thou  attack  existence,  which  has  made  thee? 
Why,  friendship,  love,  and  sympathy  with  others. 
The  sacred  ties  that  beautify  our  lives — 
What  gives  them  strength  if  not  the  truthful  word? 
True  is  all  nature  in  its  circling  course; 
True  is  the  wolf  that  howls  ere  it  devours. 
True  is  the  thunder  threatening  when  it  lightens. 
True  is  the  flame  which  at  a  distance  singes. 
The  raging  flood  whose  roar  proclaims  the  whirlpool; 
True  are  they  all,  for  truth  it  is  to  be. 
What  then  art  thou  that  liest  to  thy  brother, 


298     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTKIAN  DRAMA  \ 

Deceiv'st  thy  friend,  deaFst  foully  with  thy  neighbor?  \ 

Thou  art  no  animal,  for  beasts  are  true,  \ 

No  wolf,  or  dragon,  stone  or  poisonous  plant;  ] 

Thou  art  the  devil,  he  alone  doth  lie,  | 

And  devil  art  thou  if  a  lie  thou  telFst.  I 

Therefore,  beloved  brethren,  be  ye  true,  | 

And  let  your  word  be:  Yes,  and  no,  for  aye.  3 

Thus  do  I  penance  for  the  pride  in  me.  \ 

For  had  I  truly  spoken  when  the  king  I 

Asked  recently  if  aught  my  heart  desired,  | 

And  begged  of  him  a  ransom  for  my  child,             .  | 

He  now  were  free,  and  quiet  were  my  heart.  5 

But  prompted  by  my  ire — though  justified —  \ 

My  answer  was:    My  lord,  I  need  no  gift,  | 

Give  it  to  those  who  fawn  and  rob  the  land;  I 

And  in  his  wrath  he  turned  his  face  from  me,  j 

And  in  his  prison  languishes  still  Atalus,  \ 
{He  sits  down  on  a  grassy  hnoll  exhausted.)         j 

Leon  {appearing).  \ 

Hard  work  it  was  to  free  myself  from  him.  J 

There  sits  my  master,  with  bare  head,  O  Lord!  \ 

First  he  spurns  food,  then  braves  he  the  raw  air  ; 

Of  early  spring,  with  nothing  in  his  stomach.  j 

He's  trifling  with  his  life.     God  is  my  witness  \ 

That  if  I  stayed  with  him  I'd  buy  a  cap,  | 
And  throw  it  in  his  way  for  him  to  find 

And  put  upon  his  head;  for  he  himself  | 

Would  never  buy  it.    Fie  upon  a  niggard!  I 

He  sees  me  not.    I  shall  address  him,  else  | 

When  comes  Herr  Sigrid  I  shall  try  in  vain.  i 

My  reverend  lord !  { 

Gregory,  \ 

Call'st   thou,   my  Atalus?  j 
Leon, 

'Tis  I,  my  lord!  \ 

Gregory.                         Who  art  thou?  \ 


WEH  DEM,  DER  LUGT  299 

Leon, 

I  am  Leon, 
Leon,  the  kitchen-boy.  or  I  might  say, 
Leon  the  cook,  if  so  God  wills. 
Gregory  {with  emphasis). 

Yes,  if— 
For  wills  he  not,  thon  liest  dead,  a  nothing. 
Leon, 

0  how  you  frighten  me! 
Ore  gory. 

Thy  wish,  boy? 
Leon, 

Siri 
Oregory. 

Where  is  thy  apron,  cook?  and  where  thy  knife? 
And  whose  is  what  lies  yonder  in  the  sand? 
Leon. 

It  is  my  knife,  my  apron  it  is,  sir. 
Oregory. 

Why  on  the  ground? 
Leon. 

I  threw  them  down  in  anger. 
Oregory. 

If  angry  thou  hast  thrown  these  things  away. 
Then  gently  pick  them  up  again. 
Leon. 

But,  sir — 
Oregory. 

If  'tis  too  hard,  I'll  do  it,  friend,  for  thee. 

(He  tends  down.) 
Leon  {intercepting  him). 

Oh,  oh,  my  reverend  sir,  what  are  you  doing? 

{He  picks  up  the  things.) 
Oregory. 

So.    Wear  them  both  now,  as  is  due  to  custom. 

1  like  to  see  a  man  proclaim  his  trade. 


300    GKILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

As  thou  before  me  stoodst,  bare  of  utensils, 

Thou  mightst  as  well  have  been  a  good-for-nothing, 

About  to  roam  the  woods,  intent  on  evil. 

Thy  apron  tells  me  thou'rt  indeed  my  cook. 

And  tells  it  thee.    And  now  speak  on,  my  son. 
Leon. 

Scarce  know  I  what  I  was  about  to  say. 

You  quite  confuse  me. 
Gregory. 

That  I  did  not  mean. 

Bethink  thee,  friend,  camest  thou  not  to  complain? 

The  apron  that  lay  there  makes  me  believe  it. 
Leon. 

Indeed,  I  did,  sir,  and  complain  about  you. 
Gregory. 

So,  so,  about  me?    That,  friend,  I  do  daily. 
Leon. 

Not  so,  my  lord,  not  so !    And  yet  'twas  so ! 

But  not  as  Leon,  I  complain  as  cook — 

As  your  own  cook,  and  as  your  servant,  sir — 

That  you  so  hate  yourself. 
Gregory. 

O  that  were  bad! 

Self-hatred  worse  than  self-love  is,  indeed. 

For  one  should  hate  but  what  is  wholly  bad, 

And  wholly  bad,  friend,  honestly  I'm  not. 
Leon. 

How  can  you  talk  so!    You  and  wholly  bad! 

You're  wholly  good,  yes,  wholly,  but  for  this  — 
Gregory. 

And  this  is  that  I  hate  my  very  self? 
Leon. 

That  to  yourself  you  are  not  kind,  a  miser. 

Through  self-denial,  while  profuse  to  others. 

I  cannot  stand  this,  I,  who  am  your  cook. 

You'll  have  to  answer  for  your  soul  to  Heaven, 


WEH  DEM,  DER  LUGT                        301  | 

Your  body  is,  however,  in  my  charge; 

I  therefore  say,  in  virtue  of  my  office:  ] 

Man  has  to  eat,  as  knows  whatever  takes  breath,  ; 

And  what  we  eat  affects  our  very  being. 

A  lenten  feast  will  leave  you  weak  in  mind,  j 

While  solid  roast  will  make  you  strong  and  brave;  | 

A  cup  of  wine  gives  joy  and  eloquence,  1 

While  water  puffs  you  with  its  emptiness.  ; 

You're  fit  for  nothing,  sir,  if  you  don't  eat.  v 

I  know  this  best,  and  therefore  do  I  talk.  ; 

While  empty,  I  am  stupid,  dull  and  lazy,  j 

But  breakfast  sharpens  mightily  my  wits, 

And  then  I  am  a  match  for  any  man. 

You  understand?  j 

Gregory,  j 

Hast  thou  abeady  eaten?  ^ 

Leon.  j 

Indeed,  I  have.  | 

Gregory.  ] 

Ah,  therefore  so  much  wisdom  I  5 

Leon. 

Wisdom  or  folly,  truth  at  any  rate.  I 

That  haunch  of  venison,  why,  yesterday  J 
I  had  to  send  it  back  and  sell  it,  yes, 
A  morsel  choice,  such  as  you  never  saw. 

Gregory.  ] 

Too  precious,  boy,  it  was  for  me.  1 

Leon. 

Too  precious?  I 

For  such  a  man?    Indeed?    A  fine  excuse!  j 

Do  you  then  know  it  cost  as  good  as  nothing?  j 

Yes,  truly  nothing.     Will  you  have  it  now?  1 

It  still  is  here,  and  free  of  charge.    You  see,  ! 

It  is — it  is — a  gift  of  pious  folk,  J 

Indeed  it  is.  \ 

Gregory.  i 
Liest  thou  perhaps? 


302    GRTLLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  i 

^^<"'-  O,  well!  \ 

Gregory.  ] 

Woe  to  him  who  lies !  5 

Leon.  f 

Pshaw,  pshaw!  j 

^''O"'"-  Foolhardy  boy!  j 

Leon. 

And  if  I  lied,  it  was  with  good  intent.  j 

Gregory. 

What  knowest,  mite,  thou  of  intent  and  aim?  \ 

The  One  above  determines  the  result.  I 

Thou,  daring  wretch,  art  bound  to  speak  the  truth.  | 

Leon.  ^ 

Well,  then,  supposing,  sir,  I  bought  it  for  you,  | 

Why  all  this  noise?    'Twill  not  be  done  again.  i 
I  never  dreamed  that  sinful  such  a  deed! 

Gregory.  ] 
Go  hence  now! 

Well,  I  say  good-bye!  ] 
(He  turns  to  go,  hut  immediately  comes  hach.)        ■ 

One  word!  1 

Forgive  me!    Really,  I  could  not  help  it.  ) 

So  good  a  master  that  the  smallest  lie —  1 

A  white  lie  only — rouses  him  to  anger —  1 

Forgive  me,  sir,  for  I  defend  not  lying —  j 
I  merely  say,  that  such  a  one — a  miser! 
Fie!    What  is  there  in  gold  to  make  you  love  it? 
Gregory. 

Why  think'st  thou  so?  i 

Leon.  i 

Permit  me,  reverend  sir,  1 
I  saw  you  kiss  a  bag  containing  x)ence. 
It  stands  up  in  a  corner  of  your  chest. 

Down  here  you  stint  yourself,  and  hoard  above.  ] 

Now,  is  this  right?    You  see  we're  quits  and  even.  1 


WEH  DEM,  BER  LUGT  303  '\ 

Gregory.  i 

And  that  was  it?  ^ 

Leon.  \ 
Yes,  that.    Nor  I  alone, 

Still  other  folk  reprove  you  for  it,  sir,  J 
And  that,  you  see,  much  grieves  a  faithful  servant. 

Gregory.  ^ 

This  case,  I  see,  demands  full  explanation.  j 

A  guardian  of  souls  dare  not  mislead;  1 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  cause  evil  talk.  \ 

Sit  down,  my  boy,  and  hear  now  my  defence.  I 

Leon. 

O  sir!  J 

Gregory.  \ 

Sit  down,  I  say!  1 

Leon.  -rr  1        T,n    .       .  i 

Here,  then,  1 11  sit,  sir.  \ 

{He  seats  himself  on  the  ground,  in  front  of  the  bishop.)  J 

Gregory.  1 

Thou  tak'st  offence  because  I  hoard  my  savings,  | 

And  kissed  the  money  gained  by  self-denial.  \ 

Hear  then!     Perhaps  thou  wilt  forgive  me.  J 

When — 'tis  now  full  a  year — peace  was  concluded,  ; 

The  longed-for  peace,  'tween  us  and  the  barbarians 

Beyond  the  Rhine,  then  justly  gave  and  took  ^ 

Both  we  and  they — distrustful — hostages.  ; 

My  nephew,  he  my  only  sister's  son. 

My  Atalus,  alas!  was  taken  thus.  ] 

They,  ruthless  torn  from  home  and  all  that's  dear,  * 

Sealed  with  their  persons  thus  a  lying  peace.  j 

He  scarce  had  reached  his  jailors  in  that  land  | 

Beyond  the  Rhine — far  is  the  place  from  Treves —  1 

Where  uncouth  nature,  which  we  here  conceal,  j 

In  all  its  nakedness  joins  man  to  beast — 

Scarce  was  he  there,  when  war  broke  out  anew. 

In  disregard  of  faith,  and  both  sides  took  1 

Revenge  on  their  poor,  guiltless  hostages.  I 


304    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Thus  lies  my  Atalus  in  durance  vile, 

Bound  to  do  slavish  service  to  a  master. 
Leon. 

The  Lord  take  pity  I 
Gregory. 

I  have  offered  ransom. 

But  hundred  pounds  in  Franlvish  coin  demand  they 

Who  have  him  in  their  power.    So  much  I  own  not. 
Leon. 

You're  jesting,  sir.    Thrice  hundred  pounds  and  more 

Yields  to  its  head  the  church  and  town  of  Langres. 
Oregory. 

The  poor  own  what  it  yields,  not  I  indeed. 

'Twas  given  to  the  bishop  to  give  others; 

He  rules  in  his  estate,  but  does  not  own  it. 

To  dress  and  food,  and  what  the  body  needs. 

The  bishop  may  lay  claim  like  any  one, 

And  what  thereof  he  saves  is  his  perhaps. 

Perhaps,  perhaps  'tis  not.     Know  then  I  dared. 

As  often  as  a  solitary  coin 

I  saved  from  my  allowance,  to  lay  it  by 

As  thou  hast  seen,  and  if  sometimes  I  kissed  it, 

As  thou  reproachest  me,  know  'tis  the  ransom 

For  my  poor  Atalus,  my  son. 
Leon  (jumping  up). 

What's  in  the  bag? 
Gregory. 

Near  to  ten  pounds. 
Leon. 

And  hundred  must  you  have? 

Pray,  with  your  leave,  how  long  then  must  you  save? 

And  meanwhile  they  may  torture  him  to  death. 
Oregory. 

I  fear  thou'rt  right. 
Leon. 

No,  sir,  that  will  not  do! 

That  must  be  managed  differently,  sir. 


1 
} 
I 

WEH  DEM,  DER  LUGT  305                 '. 

Had  I  ten  fellows  like  me,  sir,  the  devil! —  J 

Good  Lord  I  meant,  excuse  me — I  should  free  him. 

And  even  so,  yes,  T  alone,  if  there  j 

Where  he's  imprisoned.     Sir,  what  would  you  give  me? — 

I  use  a  common  phrase — I  ask  no  wage;  J 

What  would  you  give  if  I  could  free  your  nephew?  ^ 

Were  I  but  there  I'd  lie  him  out  of  it.  \ 

Gregory.  | 

Woe  to  him  who  lies!  1 

Leon. 

Ah,  sir,  I  crave  your  pardon,  | 

They'll  never  for  the  Lord's  sake  set  him  free.  j 

There's  nothing  left  us  then  but  speak  the  truth,  1 

And  let  him  stay  there.    Pardon  me!    Good-bye!  j 

I  meant  no  harm.  I 

{He  turns  to  go.)  ^ 

Gregory.  ^ 

O  father,  thou  of  all,  J 

To  thy  hand  ever  I  commit  my  son!  j 

Leon  (returning).  i 

My  lord,  forgive  me;  'twas  a  sudden  outburst.  j 

I  know  not  how  to  talk  with  such  as  you.  \ 

I  almost  had  conceived  a  little  plan,  i 
To  play  a  trick  upon  those  stupid  devils 

Who  guard  your  nephew  in  that  savage  land,  ^ 
And,  if  all  went  well,  free  him  from  his  prison. 

But  truth,  my  lord —  I 

Gregory.  ] 

Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  witness. 

Spoke  the  Almighty  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  | 

Leon.  i 

And  yet  consider —  | 

Gregory.  | 

Woe  to  him  who  lies!  s 

Leon.  i] 

And  if  your  nephew  in  the  meantime  dies?  J 


306     GRILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Gregory. 

Then  let  him  die,  and  I  shall  die  with  him. 

Leon. 

O  it  is  pitiful!    What  have  you  done? 
I,  too,  am  now  in  prison,  beaten,  tortured, 
Unfit  to  rest,  to  eat,  and  drink  and  sleep. 
While  absent  that  dear  favorite  of  yours. 
At  Treves,  you  say,  he  is?     Is  it  not  so? 
Gregory, 
It  is. 
Leon, 

What  if  the  hostile  camp  I  sought. 
And  begged  to  stay  in  place  of  Atalus? 
Gregory, 

The  hostages  are  chosen  from  the  mighty. 
You  scarce  vouch  for  yourself,  much  less  for  others. 
Leon. 

That's  true  enough. — What  then  if  Atalus, 
Seizing  a  proper  chance,  escaped  from  prison? 
Gregory, 

That  might  he  do  without  a  sin,  for  war 
Absolves  from  duty  hostages  of  peace. 
And  he  is  wrongfully  withheld  by  them. 
But  how  can  such  a  youth,  reared  tenderly. 
Perhaps  too  tenderly,  meet  direful  need. 
Through  deserts  roam,  o'ercome  a  threatening  foe. 
Face  misery  and  want?     Not  Atalus! 
Leon. 

But  if  a  sturdy  fellow  lent  his  aid, 
A  fellow  such  as  I  stood  at  his  side. 
And  if  he  brought  him  to  you  safe  and  sound? — 
Dismiss  me  from  your  service! 
Gregory, 

What  meanest  thou? 
Leon, 

Vm  bound  for  Treves. 


WEH  DEM,  DEE  LUGT  307 

Oregory. 

Thou? 
Leon, 

To  bring  back  your  nephew. 
Oregory, 

Is  this  a  time  for  jesting? 
Leon, 

God  forgive  you ! 

I  did  not  jest,  nor  should  your  lordship  do  so. 

In  earnest  am  I.     I'll  produce  your  son. 
Gregory. 

And  if  you  would,  and  bent  upon  your  task. 

With  sly  intent  approached  the  enemy. 

His  house  then  entered,  in  your  heart  deceit. 

Abused  the  confidence  men  owe  to  fellowmen; 

If  through  your  lies  my  Atalus  you  freed, 

I  should  refuse  to  see  him,  send  him  back 

Once  more  to  prison,  curse  him  and  curse  you. 
Leon, 

Agreed,  my  lord!     Upon  the  terms  you  state. 

Leon  joins  a  pilgrim  on  his  way  to  Treves  and  the  coun- 
try beyond.  As  they  approach  the  dominions  of  Count 
Kattwald,  who  holds  Atalus  captive,  Leon  induces  the  pil- 
grim to  accept  him  as  his  slave  and  to  offer  him  to  the  count 
for  a  round  sum,  as  a  renowned  cook.  Kattwald,  a  glutton, 
eagerly  agrees  to  the  bargain,  and  Leon,  by  whetting  his  ap- 
petite and  threatening  to  leave  if  crossed  in  any  way,  soon 
establishes  complete  control  over  the  entire  household.  He 
is  equally  outspoken  in  his  dealings  with  Edrita,  the  pretty 
daughter  of  the  count,  who  is  engaged  to  be  married  to 
Galomir,  a  boorish  fellow,  less  than  half-witted,  whom  she 
despises.  When  Leon  first  meets  Atalus,  and  confides  his 
plan  of  rescue  to  him,  which  requires  absolute  submission 


308     GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

to  his  commands,  the  proud  knight  vehemently  protests 
against  playing  assistant  to  his  uncle's  kitchen-boy,  but  is 
forced  to  yield.  Leon  explains  to  Atalus  his  plans  for 
their  escape. 

Atalus. 

The  house  myself  shall  enter. 
Leon, 

Ah,  indeed! 
Atalus. 

Had  I  a  sword,  the  key  were  mine  ere  long. 
Leon. 

Had  I,  I  should!    "We  know  this  idle  talk; 

If  wing'd  were  wishes,  beggars  ne'er  would  walk. 

You  may  have  other  gifts,  I  do  allow; 

Astuter,  though,  am  I.     That  house  I'll  enter. 

While  you  may  dig  the  ground  to  suit  your  taste. 
Atalus. 

The  hardest  task  thus  ever  falls  to  me. 
Leon. 

You  call  that  hardest?    Do  you,  sir,  indeed? 
Atalus  (pushing  aside  spade  and  hoe  with  his  foot). 

I  shall  not  touch  what's  put  to  vulgar  use; 

I  am  the  better  man,  the  bolder  task 

Therefore  is  mine  by  right.     The  house  I'll  enter. 
Leon. 

And  if  you  meet  some  inmate  in  the  halls? 
Atalus. 

I'll  seize  him  by  the  throat. 
Leon.  And  he'll  shout  murder. 

Go  lion-hunting,  sir,  but  catching  birds. 

That  leave  to  me.    We'll  do  as  I  have  planned. 

I  have  to  justify  your  uncle's  trust. 

Therefore  my  common  sense  must  be  obeyed. 

Else  go  you  back  to  tend  again  your  horses. 

Now  swallow  your  disgust  as  best  you  can. 


WEH  DEM,  DER  LUGT                       309  j 

While  meanwhile  I  shall  try  how  swift  my  legs.  I 

The  outlay  for  me  I  consider  paid 

By  service  freely  rendered  here  and  there. 

Your  uncle  waits  for  you.     Hear  you  his  voice? 

Borne  by  the  evening  breeze,  his  prayer  seems  ■ 

To  come  to  us  with  surety  of  protection,  | 

And  angels  with  their  mighty  wings  shall  follow  ^ 

Wherever  we  may  go.     But  I  must  coax  you  ^ 

As  soothingly  one  coaxes  little  children.  | 

Believe  me,  digging  is  a  task  for  nobles. 

Whatever  you  may  do  that's  great  and  good,  . 

He  who  shall  dig  your  grave  will  overcome  i 

Your  victories,  your  graces,  your  great  deeds.  1 

Here  is  the  spade,  now  bear  it  like  a  sword,  \ 

And  here  the  hoe — ^but  wait,  not  yet,  not  yet.  i 

Edrita,  who  falls  in  love  with  Leon,  connives  at  his 

escape  and  that  of  Atalus,  and  offers  to  join  the  fugitives.  j 

Leon  protests.  ! 

Leon, 

I've  given  a  solemn  promise  to  my  lord  ] 

To  take  no  crooked  step,  to  do  no  wrong  j 

In  executing  what  dire  need  demands.  j 

If  from  the  master  I  entice  the  slave,  ] 
Ne'er  from  the  father  shall  I  steal  the  daughter. 

Thus  adding  to  the  curse  upon  our  heads.  j 

Edrita.  .      \ 

But  listen!  j 

Leon.  I 

No,  it  cannot,  must  not  be.  | 

Atalus.  \ 
He  has  no  sense, 

Edrita.                          Much  more  than  you  conceive.  ! 
He  stands  upon  his  right,  is  short  and  dry. 

And  pauses  just  this  side  of  what  is  wrong.  \ 

His  artless  bearing,  full  of  truest  art,  \ 


310    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Disarms  his  foe,  inviting  confidence, 
Awakening  wishes  which  he  contradicts 
With  honest  speech  and  studied  vehemence. 
Such  his  intent,  and  such  his  actions  are. 

Finding  Leon  obdurate,  Edrita  asks  Atalus  to  take  her 
with  him,  and  he  consents.  Her  knowledge  of  the  country 
proves  invaluable  to  the  fugitives,  whom  she  hides  from 
their  pursuers,  among  them  Galomir.  When  they  are 
about  to  cross  a  ferry,  Leon's  honest  confession  of  who  they 
are  saves  the  lives  of  all  of  them,  for  the  ferryman,  a  secret 
enemy  of  Kattwald's,  would  have  drowned  them  had  they — 
as  Edrita  wished  to  do — attempted  to  deceive  him  by  pre- 
tending to  be  messengers  of  the  count.  They  reach  Metz 
and  lie  down  to  rest  before  its  walls.  Leon  alone  remains 
awake  to  watch  over  his  companions. 

Leon. 

The  sun  still  lingers,  and  the  night  is  dark. 
And  darkness  also  in  my  bosom  reigns. 
There  lie  the  two,  in  slumber  wrapt  like  children. 
And  I,  as  would  a  mother,  watch  o'er  them. 

0  that  a  part  of  that  sweet  happiness 
Which  joys  in  what  it  does  were  also  mine! 

*  *  *  *  "X-  *  * 

And  when  at  last  we  shall  confront  my  master! 
How  suddenly  his  venerable  presence 
Through  night  and  darkness  fills  my  erring  eye. 
His  parting  word  a  warning  'gainst  deceit! 
And  yet  how  checkered  has  been  all  we've  done! 

1  dare  not  sift  and  winnow  all  my  acts — 

A  daughter  snatched  from  her  paternal  home! 
And  if  not  snatched,  she  was  allowed  to  follow. 
How  shall  I  stand  before  my  master's  gaze? 

Kattwald's  minions,  led  by  Galomir,  overtake  the  fugi- 


WEH  DEM,  DER  LUGT  311 

tives.  Leon  admits  that  Kattwald's  daughter  is  in  his 
charge,  and  believing  his  case  hopeless,  invokes  the  aid  of 
the  Almighty.  Suddenly  there  issues  from  the  gates  of  the 
town  a  troop  of  soldiers.  They  are  not,  as  Kattwald's  men 
suppose,  friendly  to  them  nor,  like  them,  worshippers  of 
the  old  gods.  Two  days  before,  the  town  had  surrendered 
to  the  Christians,  and  Gregory  of  Tours  is  now  master  of 
Metz.  The  soldiers  are  his  own  followers.  Atalus  rushes 
into  the  arms  of  his  uncle. 

Gregory. 

Now  tell  me,  Atalus,  earnest  thou  alone? 

Was  he  not  with  thee  who  was  sent  by  me? 
Atalus  {pointing  to  Leon). 

There  stands  who  made  me  free,  he,  my  protector. 
Gregory. 

Thou  here,  my  madcap,  thou,  my  faithful  boy? 

Here  take  my  hand!    To  press,  so,  not  to  kiss. 

Hast  bravely  lied,  shown  brazen  impudence? 

Dealt  in  deceit  and  fraud?    Ah,  well  I  know  I 
Leon. 

Well,  spotless  did  I  not  emerge  throughout. 

But  we  took  care  to  do  the  best  we  could. 

True  always  was  alone  our  help — the  Lori. 
Gregory. 

And  that  He  is  and  shall  be  evermore. 

{To  the  leader  of  the  Franhs.) 

And  in  His  holy  name  I  now  request  you: 

Release  these  men  here,  grant  them  free  return, 

Unless,  perchance,  some  one  should  feel  impelled 

To  join  the  Church. — ^I  see  they're  not  inclined. 

Depart  in  peace!    We  know  of  no  compulsion. 

Truth  only  shall  compel  us  all  at  last. 

And  she  is  not  in  need  of  outside  help. 

Else  were  she  truth?    May  God  direct  your  steps! 


312     GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN^  DEAMA 

Edrita  comes  forward  and  clears  Leon  from  the  suspi- 
cion of  having  induced  her  to  leave  her  father.  She  asks 
to  be  received  into  the  fold  of  the  Church.  Atalus  lets 
Gregory  know  that  he  would  be  willing  to  attest  his  grati- 
tude to  Edrita  by  marrying  her,  and  Gregory  intimates 
that  he  would  not  withhold  his  consent ;  but  Edrita  pleads 
a  desire  to  live  in  solitude  for  a  while.  Gregory  asks  her, 
at  all  events,  to  thank  her  protector.  Atalus  stretches  out 
his  hand  to  her,  and  Leon  utters  an  exclamation  of  pain. 

Gregory. 

What  ails  thee,  boy?    Why  dost  thou  stand  apart? 
Leon. 

I'll  draw  then  near — and  ask  to  take  my  leave. 
Gregory. 

Thy  leave,  and  why? 
Leon. 

Oh,  trav'lling  becomes  habit 

When  one  has  seen  a  bit  of  this  great  world. 

And  then — you  know — I  always  longed  to  serve 

The  king  as  soldier — 
Gregory. 

That's  it  then? 
Leon, 

It  is. 
Gregory. 

Thou  hast  another  reason. 
Leon. 

None,  indeed. 
Gregory. 

Woe  to  him  who  lies! 
Leon. 

Yet  one  might  think  in  truth — ^ 
Gregory. 

Once  more :    Woe  to  the  liar  and  the  lie  I 


WEH  DEM,  DEE  LIJGT  313 

Leon, 

Well,  truly  said,  I  like  the  maid  myself. 

If  she  turns  from  me,  let  another  have  her; 

But  merely  to  look  on  while  she  is  wed — 
Edrita. 

Leon ! 
Leon, 

Yes,  you  I 
Edrita. 

Leon  and  I. — 
Leon, 

How  now? 
Edrita. 

Did  I  not  from  the  start  think  well  of  thee? 
Leon. 

But  what  a  cruel  change  there  quickly  followed  I 

You  went  with  Atalus. 
Edrita. 

Was  I  not  forced  to  go? 

And  you  it  was  that  cruelly  repelled  me. 
Leon   (pointing  to  Gregory). 

Through  fear  of  him  who  never  would  permit — 

Could  I  come  back  to  him  a  thief  and  robber? 
Edrita. 

And  yet  you  stole  my  heart,  and  have  it  still. 
Leon. 

And  yet  you  mean  to  marry? 

Edrita. 

I? 

(Looking  confidingly  at  the  hishop,  her  hands  folded  as  if  in 

supplication.)  ^       , 

^^  ^  O  no! 

Gregory. 

Who  can  the  world's  confused  web  unravel? 
They  all  speak  only  truth,  are  proud  of  it. 
Yet  she  deceives  herself  and  him;  he,  me 


314    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

And  her.     He  lies  because  the  others  lied, 

And  yet  all  speak  the  truth,  yes,  all  of  them. 

Ah,  noxious  weeds  can  ne'er  be  rooted  out. 

We're  lucky  if  some  grain  grows  up  with  them. 

{To  Atalus.) 

Things  go  not  well  with  us,  what  say'st  thou,  son? 
Atalus  (after  a  pause). 

I  say  that  he  is  welcome  to  the  girl 

Who  saved  me,  she  who  loveth  him,  alas! 
Gregory. 

Well  speak'st  thou,  son,  and  that  there  be  no  doubt 

As  to  her  husband's  rank  and  future  standing, 

I  tell  thee  that  two  nephews  now  are  mine; 

The  king,  I  know,  will  gladly  do  the  rest. 

Let  him  then  safely  woo  the  chieftain's  child. 

Look  not  so  sad,  my  son!     Art  thou  aggrieved? 

Where  all  deception  is  thou  wert  deceived. 

I  know  a  land  where  truth's  enthroned  supreme^ 

And  lie  itself  a  checkered  dress  doth  seem. 

By  the  Greater  made,  a  passing  thing. 

Which  o'er  the  sinning  crowd  his  hand  did  fling. 

That  they  be  blinded  not  by  truth's  pure  ray. 

Art  thou  so  minded,  follow  God's  old  way. 

There  reigns  a  bliss  which  no  deception  knows. 

And  to  the  latest  day  but  greater  grows. 

And  these  two — 

(Pointing  to  Leon  and  Edrita.) 
Let  them  do  as  they  propose. 

Various  causes  contributed  to  the  failure  of  Grillpar- 
zer's  comedy.  The  subtle  humor  of  the  situation  and  the 
delicate  shades  of  contrast  between  the  austere  wisdom  of 
Gregory  and  the  worldly  shrewdness  and  frank  gayety  of 
Leon  easily  escape  a  popular  audience.  Moreover,  the 
aristocratic  patrons  of  the  Burgtheater  resented  the  subor- 


WEH  DEM,  DER  LUGT  315 

dination  of  Atalus,  the  noble,  to  Leon,  the  kitchen-boy. 
The  role  of  Galomir,  at  best  a  difficult  one  to  impersonate, 
was  placed  in  the  hands  of  an  actor  who  entirely  mistook 
its  character.  He  made  of  it  a  babbling  idiot,  whereas 
Grillparzer,  according  to  his  own  statement,  had  intended 
to  portray  merely  an  undeveloped  child  of  nature — low  and 
crude  indeed,  but  not  devoid  of  all  intelligence. 

Grillparzer  was  deeply  wounded  by  the  fate  of  the  com- 
edy. He  resolved  that  henceforth  no  more  plays  of  his 
should  be  performed  on  the  Vienna  stage.  Perhaps  he  was 
actuated  not  so  much  by  resentment  against  the  Vienna 
public  as  by  a  growing  distrust  of  his  powers  to  please 
that  tribunal  whose  judgment  he  acknowledged  as  final. 
He  withdrew  more  and  more  within  himself,  attended 
to  his  official  duties  with  outward  punctuality,  even 
if  with  inward  dissatisfaction,  buried  himself  at  home 
in  his  books,  followed  closely  the  literary  and  political 
happenings  of  the  day,  and  thought  and  wrote  much  for 
the  privacy  of  his  desk.  Vienna  gradually  forgot  its  fore- 
most author.  The  plays  which  had  delighted  the  audiences 
of  the  Burgtheater  were  no  longer  performed.  And  there 
was  little  demand  for  his  printed  works,  either  in  Austria 
or  elsewhere.  Indeed,  in  Germany  Grillparzer  had  never 
gained  a  foothold.  ^'Ottokar,"  "Der  Traum  ein  Leben," 
and  ^'Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn"  proved  unsuccessful 
wherever  performed — in  Berlin,  Dresden,  Munich,  Mainz, 
etc.  In  Hamburg  alone  "Der  Traum  ein  Leben''  met  with 
favor.  Grillparzer,  who,  with  all  his  Austrian  patriotism, 
considered  himself  a  German  poet,  felt  keenly  the  indiffer- 
ence of  the  German  public  and  the  ignorant  and  malicious 
attacks  of  German  critics.    Again  he  sought  consolation  in 


316     GRILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

music.  He  was  roused  to  great  enthusiasm  by  the  per- 
formances of  Clara  Wieck  in  1837-38,  and  addressed  to  her 
one  of  his  finest  poems.  He  was  similarly  inspired  by  the 
concert  singer,  Mrs.  Shaw,  who  appeared  in  Vienna  the 
following  winter. 

But  while  seemingly  silent,  Grillparzer's  dramatic 
muse  was  not  idle.  His  intimate  friends  had  long  known 
that  he  was  at  work  on  a  tragedy  entitled  ^'Libussa,''  and 
Bauernfeld  besought  him  in  a  striking  poem,  published 
in  a  prominent  journal,  to  break  his  silence,  and  let  the 
public  once  more  share  his  treasures. 

Laube  relates  that  when  on  one  occasion  he  urged  the 
poet  to  allow  "Libussa"  to  be  performed,  Grillparzer 
finally  said:  ^^Well,  you  may  have  it  if  you  can  assure 
me  after  reading  it  that  it  will  be  a  success  on  the  stage." 
Laube  would  not  risk  the  chance  of  a  mere  half-success, 
and  returned  the  manuscript.  Subsequently,  however,  in 
1840,  Grillparzer  permitted  the  first  act  of  "Libussa"  to 
be  played  for  some  charitable  purpose.  It  was  most  en- 
thusiastically received,  and  all  Vienna  clamored  for  the 
continuation  of  the  play,  but  the  poet  remained  deaf  to  all 
entreaties. 

Grillparzer  once  more  felt  the  need  of  refreshing  him- 
self by  travel  in  foreign  countries.  He  was  chiefly  drawn 
toward  Spain,  that  country  with  whose  literature  he  was 
so  familiar ;  but  the  Carlist  war  interfered  with  his  proj- 
ect. In  1843  he  decided  to  go  to  Greece,  whose  literary 
past  was  no  less  dear  to  him.  But  he  had  scarcely  re- 
solved upon  the  journey  when  he  was  seized  with  his  usual 
hypochondriacal  misgivings.  When  he  was  leaving 
Vienna,   the  Frohlich   sisters   accompanied  him   to  the 


WEH  DEM,  DEE  LUGT  317 

steamboat.  "Kathi  cried  bitterly  and  was  fairly  beside 
herself  from  fear  of  this  perilous  journey.  I  tried  to  con- 
vince her,"  writes  Grillparzer,  ^'how  senseless  her  appre- 
hensions were,  but  secretly  I  had  to  confess  to  myself  that 
the  journey  was  even  more  senseless  than  her  fears.  The 
man  on  whose  company  I  had  counted  did  not  make  his 
appearance,  and  to  undertake  such  a  long  and  tedious  jour- 
ney, at  my  time  of  life  and  in  my  state  of  health,  without  a 
companion,  and  in  the  manner  of  a  travelling  student,  bor- 
dered on  the  absurd.  However,  I  had  resolved  to 
make  the  journey,  and  since  its  object  was  precisely  to 
cure  by  force  that  hypochondriacal  irresoluteness  which  is 
my  principal  weakness,  I  could  not,  in  justice  to  myself, 
think  of  giving  up  my  carefully  prepared  plan ;  and  so  I 
started  out.  But  it  would  be  difficult  to  describe  my 
frame  of  mind.  I  felt  like  one  who  goes  not  upon,  but 
into,  the  water." 

The  diary  of  Grillparzer's  Oriental  journey,  consisting 
of  hasty  pencil  memoranda,  is  far  less  interesting  than  the 
accounts  of  his  other  travels.  Increasing  years  brought  an 
ever  present  sense  of  the  petty  discomforts  of  travel  and 
perhaps  a  lessened  degree  of  impressionability.  Moreover, 
he  failed  in  the  main  purpose  of  his  journey.  The  feeling 
of  hostility  toward  Germans  which  then  prevailed 
throughout  Greece  made  it  unsafe  for  him  to  visit  Delphi 
and  Mount  Parnassus,  and  he  left  Athens  disenchanted. 
But  we  gain  interesting  glimpses  of  the  man  in  these  un- 
conventional jottings.  He  reveals  himself  in  all  the  sin- 
cerity of  his  nature,  which  never  failed  to  impress  others. 
The  Countess  Hahn-Hahn,  in  her  day  a  noted  writer,  who 
met  him  at  Constantinople  and  Smyrna,  speaks  of  him  thus 


318     GRILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTKIAN  DEAMA 

in  her  Oriental  letters :  "Grillparzer  is  a  pleasant  and  sim- 
ple man,  who  does  not  look  like  the  author  of  that  gruesome 
tragedy  (^Die  Ahnfrau').  I  am  glad  I  shall  now  find  in 
Vienna,  which  city  I  have  always  been  so  fond  of,  one  more 
agreeable  acquaintance ;  for  I  enjoy  Grillparzer  as  I  do  all 
persons  who,  with  all  their  great  intellectual  gifts,  have  re- 
mained as  simple  and  unaffected  as  God  has  created  them." 

In  the  course  of  the  following  years  Vienna  gradually 
awoke  to  the  consciousness  of  Grillparzer' s  importance. 
Leading  writers  spread  his  fame;  a  medal  was  awarded 
to  him;  and  in  1844  a  public  celebration  in  honor  of  his 
fifty-third  birthday  took  place.  Even  the  government  be- 
gan to  take  notice  of  his  growing  popularity  and  granted 
him,  through  the  minister  of  finance,  the  liberal  Baron 
Kiibeck,  an  increase  of  salary  of  about  a  hundred  dollars. 
But  in  spite  of  all  this  tardy  recognition  of  his  merits, 
when  the  position  of  chief  librarian  of  the  Imperial 
Library,  for  which  he  had  once  before  vainly  applied, 
again  became  vacant,  his  claims  to  the  place  were  ig- 
nored, and  the  dramatist  Baron  Miinch  ("Friedrich 
Halm"),  a  writer  of  far  less  ability,  but  with  an  influential 
aristocratic  backing,  was  appointed.*  Grillparzer  felt  this 
slight  keenly.  "Such  are  the  ways  of  the  world,"  he  wrote 
in  a  pathetic  poem,  "but  I  have  one  consolation :  If  I  have 
achieved  nothing,  I  have  remained  true  to  myself." 

Public  opinion  in  Vienna  condemned  the  action  of  the 
government  with  great  outspokenness.  The  liberal  cur- 
rent which  ushered  in  the  movement  of  1848  was  in  the  air. 
Grillparzer  himself  took  part  in  several  of  the  popular 

^  ♦Halm*s  drama,  "Der  Sohn  der  Wildniss,"  translated  into  Eng- 
lish as  "Ingomar  the  Barbarian,"  was  familiar  to  American  thea- 
tre-goers of  a  bygone  generatioxL 


WEH  DEM,  DER  LUGT  319 

gatherings  which  preceded  the  storm.  This  participation 
in  political  affairs,  particularly  the  signing  of  a  petition 
asking  for  the  abolition  of  the  censorship,  was  the  source  of 
much  subsequent  trouble  to  him.  His  views  and  aspira- 
tions were  misinterpreted,  and  he  brought  upon  himself 
censure  alike  from  liberals  and  reactionaries.  The  fact 
was  that  Grillparzer,  while  liberal  in  his  convictions,  was, 
like  Goethe,  an  enemy  of  violence,  whether  in  political  and 
social  life  or  in  literature  and  art.  He  was,  moreover,  as 
we  have  seen,  devotedly  attached  to  the  reigning  dynasty, 
as  the  outward  representative  of  Austria's  greatness,  while 
keenly  alive  to  its  shortcomings  and  ardently  longing  for 
an  era  of  progress.  He  had  no  faith  in  the  unguided  wis- 
dom of  the  masses.  His  "Eecollections  of  the  Revolution 
of  1848"  throw  a  vivid  light,  not  only  upon  his  o^vn  senti- 
ments, but  upon  the  attitude  of  not  a  few  prominent  and 
patriotic  Austrians  toward  that  memorable  rising.  His 
emphatic  disclaimer  of  any  participation  in  the  events 
leading  up  to  it  cannot,  as  we  have  seen,  be  taken  literally. 


XYI 


GBILIiPARZEE  AITD  THE  EEVOLUTIOIT  OF  1848 

"In  writing  my  recollections  of  the  year  of  the  Revolu- 
tion," Grillparzer  says,  ^'I  am  met  at  the  outset  by  a 
seemingly  fatal  obstacle.  I  took  no  part  whatever  in  the 
events  of  that  year.  I  not  only  kept  aloof  from  the  prepa- 
rations for  the  rising  and  from  participation  in  the  final 
outbreak  itself,  but  a  sentiment  which  has  its  origin  in  my 
inmost  nature  deterred  me  from  following  all  the  difficult 
steps  that  presented  themselves  in  its  course.  Men  who 
have  all  their  lives  busied  themselves  purely  with  matters 
relating  to  the  arts  and  sciences  are  seized,  when  face  to 
face  with  a  state  of  hopeless  confusion,  by  a  feeling  of  dis- 
gust which  penetrates  to  their  very  vitals ;  and  nothing,  as 
is  well  known,  is  so  paralyzing  to  mental  effort  as  such 
disgust. 

"But  what  justification  for  one's  conduct  does  such  a 
frame  of  mind  offer  ?  Can  I  say  that  I  was  satisfied  with 
the  state  of  things  prior  to  March,  1848  ?  Did  I  desire 
no  change  ?  Do  I  believe  that  one  is  not  bound  to  lend  a 
hand  in  correcting  base  and  intolerable  conditions  ?  While 
giving  the  only  possible  answer  to  these  questions,  I  must 
still  have  due  regard  for  practical  considerations.  If  the 
Austrian  monarchy  were  a  compact  state,  inhabited  by  a 
homogeneous  people ;  or  if  its  various  races  were  animated 
by  a  wish  to  live  and  remain  together ;  or  if  the  time  had 


THE  EEVOLUTION  OF  1848  321 

been  favorable  to  the  furtherance  of  moderate  aims  and 
to  a  prudent  restraint  after  the  attainment  of  the  end, 
I  should  gladly  have  lent  my  aid  to  every  effort  toward 
reform.  Or — not  to  credit  myself  with  too  much  energy 
— I  should  at  least  have  supported  every  such  attempt, 
even  if  a  forcible  one,  with  my  good  wishes  and  with  what- 
ever moral  influence  over  my  countrymen  I  possessed.  But 
in  reality  the  contrary  of  all  this  was  true  at  the  time. 
Poland  had  already  revolted,  Hungary  was  merely  await- 
ing the  signal  to  rise;  the  ridiculous  question  of  the  su- 
premacy of  nationalities  had  imparted  a  centrifugal  move- 
ment to  all  the  races  of  the  Austrian  monarchy.  The  in- 
flammatory writings  of  the  last  ten  years  and  the  fresh 
impressions  of  the  February  Revolution  in  France  had 
worked  upon  the  masses  to  such  a  degree  that  any  violent 
outbreak  was  certain  to  transcend  all  bounds  of  reason. 

"The  emperor  Francis,  narrow-minded  and  wedded  to 
the  old  regime,  was  determined  to  introduce  no  reforms 
of  any  kind.  With  all  his  political  shortsightedness, 
he  had  a  sharp  eye  for  what  was  needed  to  further 
his  immediate  ends,  and  he  therefore  gave  the  police  a 
latitude  in  the  execution  of  oppressive  measures  without  a 
parallel  in  modern  society.  If  he  made  an  exception  in 
favor  of  Hungary,  this  was  due  partly  to  the  force  of  habit 
— for  Hungary  had  always  had  a  constitution — and  partly 
to  a  hope  that  the  aristocratic  principle  in  vogue  in  that 
country  might  prove  a  make-weight  against  the  democratic 
tendencies  of  the  time.  He  forgot,  however,  that  in  a  time 
of  popular  excitement  every  form  of  enthusiasm  not  justi- 
fied by  reason  is  sure  to  end  in  swelling  the  general  cur- 
rent, as  proved  to  be  the  case  in  Hungary,  whose  aristocrats 


322    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

became  speedily  the  most  furious  of  democrats.  But  at 
all  events,  Hungary  enjoyed  her  liberties,  while  the  other 
provinces  groaned  under  an  iron  despotism. 

"Prince  Metternich  was  during  the  reign  of  the  emperor 
Francis  a  decided  opponent  of  the  narrow  policy  of  his 
master.  A  man  of  native  charm  of  mind  and  manner,  he 
early  gave  rein  to  his  frivolous  tendencies,  and  throughout 
his  life  he  was  a  slave  to  his  desires — not  necessarily  in  the 
evil  sense  of  the  word.  Metternich  ridiculed,  in  conversa- 
tion with  his  intimates,  the  petty  ways  of  Austrian  official- 
dom, and  his  enthusiasm  for  Lord  Byron  and  kindred 
spirits  showed  plainly  how  foreign  to  his  native  cast  of 
mind  was  the  thought  of  trampling  upon  human  rights. 
But  at  the  time  of  the  death  of  the  emperor  Francis,  Met- 
ternich was  already  old,  indolent  and  supercilious.  Ten 
years  previously  he  might  possibly  have  lent  himself  to 
the  granting  of  reform  measures,  and  considering  his  un- 
exampled influence  over  the  power  on  the  throne,  he 
might  perhaps  have  carried  them  through.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  could  think  of  nothing  better  than  to  continue 
in  the  old  rut.  The  policy  thus  pursued  without  con- 
viction he  dignified  with  the  name  of  "system,"  and  in 
continuing  this  system  he  lost  all  the  mental  elasticity 
which  had  given  such  lustre  to  the  first  part  of  his  career. 
The  mere  fact  that  it  was  he  alone  who  supported  the 
miserable  president  of  police,  Count  Sedlnitzky,  ought  to 
be  sufficient  to  silence  all  panegyrists  of  Metternich." 

But  obnoxious  as  was  Metternich's  system  at  all  times, 
Grillparzer  found  that  in  practice  the  execution  of  the 
police  laws,  particularly  as  regards  the  censorship,  grew 
much  more  lax  under  Francis's  successor,   Ferdinand. 


THE  EEVOLUTION  OF  1848  323 

"Prohibited  foreign  books  were  circulated  in  Austria  as 
freely  as  in  any  part  of  the  world,  and  none  more  so  than 
those  described  as  particularly  dangerous.  The  press 
itself,  it  is  true,  was  subjected  to  strict  surveillance. 
But  Prince  Metternich  now  and  then  took  pleasure 
in  giving  evidences  of  his  liberal  sentiments  by  allow- 
ing men  of  European  reputation,  like  Baron  Hammer- 
Purgstall,*  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  inviting  to  his 
house,  to  print  pretty  much  what  they  liked.  And  the  gov- 
ernment was  far  from  displeased  to  see  Austrian  writers 
of  some  renown,  poets  in  particular,  publish  their  works  in 
other  countries.  All  they  had  to  do  to  remain  unmolested, 
was  to  assume  a  fiction  of  anonymity,  by  shortening  their 
name  by  a  syllable  or  choosing  some  transparent  pseudo- 
nym. Indeed,  those  in  power  felt  perhaps  a  secret  satis- 
faction in  seeing  that  the  rigor  of  the  laws  which  they 
thought  necessary  did  not  interfere  with  the  production 
of  admirable  literary  works.  Writers  who  dealt  with 
purely  political  matters,  however,  were  treated  far  less 
leniently." 

An  interesting  passage  in  these  recollections  relates  to 
the  founding  of  the  Vienna  Academy  of  Sciences.  Ac- 
cording to  Grillparzer,  the  world  was  indebted  to  the 
peasants  of  Galicia  for  this  famous  institution.  His  ac- 
count is  as  follows: 

"Baron  Hammer,  who,  led  by  his  vanity,  was  burning 
with  desire  to  be  called  president  of  an  academy,  had  long 
been  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  found  such  an  institu- 
tion.    But  the  ideas  of  this  rather  flighty  and  restless, 

*The  Orientalist  Joseph  von  Hammer-Purgstall,  in  his  day  an 
authority   on   Turkish,  Arabic,  and  Persian  literature. 


324    GRILLPAKZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

although  decidedly  able  man  were  scarcely  ever  taken  seri- 
iously.  About  this  time,  however,  Prof.  Endlicher  took 
up  the  matter.  He  very  sensibly  modified  the  plan  by 
proposing,  instead  of  an  academy,  for  which  all  the 
conditions  were  wanting,  a  private  society  for  the  promo- 
tion of  common  literary  endeavors,  which  was  to  have  the 
support  of  the  state.  To  a  meeting  held  for  this  purpose 
representative  men  from  every  branch  of  literature  were 
invited,  and  I  was  chosen  for  the  department  of  belles- 
lettres.  From  the  intellectual  stature  of  these  leaders  of 
thought  one  could  easily  infer  what  a  sorry  lot  the  rank  and 
file  would  be.  I  endeavored  at  first  to  keep  out  all  poets, 
including  myself,  from  a  society  such  as  that  proposed,  all 
the  more  so  as  my  companions  in  poetry,  Baron  Zedlitz, 
Baron  Miinch,  and  perhaps  also  Archbishop  Pyrker,  occu- 
pied official  positions  which  rendered  it  altogether  out  of  the 
question  for  them  to  join  any  society  which  the  court  might 
not  approve  of.  The  majority  of  the  men  present,  how- 
ever, did  not  agree  with  me,  and  I  had  to  withdraw  my 
objections.  A  petition  to  the  authorities  was  drawn  up 
and  handed  in,  and  there  was  no  further  talk  about  the 
matter.  Just  at  this  time  the  insurrection  in  Galicia  broke 
out.  The  peasants  murdered  and  pillaged,  and  devastated 
the  land,  evidently  with  the  connivance  of  the  local  au- 
thorities, a  circumstance  for  which  it  would  be  rash  to 
blame  them,  inasmuch  as  the  state  authorities  had  neg- 
lected to  take  any  precautions  to  prevent  the  outbreak,  so 
that  the  officials  of  the  province  found  their  only  safety 
in  letting  the  peasants  vent  their  fury  against  the  landed 
proprietors.  A  cry  of  horror  rang  throughout  Europe 
when  the  fiendish  occurrences  became  known.     Suddenly, 


THE  EEVOLUTIOlSr  OF  1848  325 

like  lightning  from  a  clear  sky,  came  the  news  that  an 
Academy  of  Sciences  was  to  be  founded.  Prince  Metter- 
nich  evidently  sought  to  divert  public  attention  from  the 
happenings  in  Galicia  by  putting  a  liberal  plaster  on  the 
sore  wounds  of  the  state,  and  for  this  purpose  such  a  con- 
cession to  science  was  the  very  best  possible  makeshift  he 
could  have  resorted  to." 

From  the  window  of  his  office  Grillparzer  had  a  view 
of  the  opening  scenes  of  the  revolution  on  the  fateful  13th 
of  March,  1848.  At  first  there  was  merely  a  gathering  of 
forty  or  fifty  young  students  on  the  Ballplatz  in  front  of 
the  State  Chancellery,  and  one  of  their  number,  who  had 
been  hoisted  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  comrade,  began  an 
address,  in  full  view  of  a  triple  row  of  soldiers.  "The 
whole,"  wrote  Grillparzer,  "made  a  great  impression  upon 
me.  The  indifference  with  which  these  young  men  sta- 
tioned themselves  there  like  sheep  ready  to  be  slaughtered, 
without  taking  the  slightest  notice  of  the  military,  had 
something  sublime  about  it.  These  are  heroic  children, 
I  said  to  myself.  After  a  while  the  soldiers  began  to  fire 
upon  the  people.  ^Mioever  gave  the  signal  brought  the 
monarchy  to  the  brink  of  ruin  by  making  a  revolution  out 
of  boyish  pranks.  From  that  moment  on  there  was  no 
going  backward,  especially  after  the  dismissal  of  Metter- 
nich,  who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  still  the  only  man  who 
had  the  ability  and  energy  necessary  to  stem  the  tide. 
Some  victim  the  people  were  determined  to  have,  but  for 
that  the  president  of  the  police.  Count  Sedlnitzky,  would 
have  sufficed,  a  man  universally  hated,  and  justly  held  re- 
sponsible for  most  of  our  evils." 

Grillparzer  speaks  of  the  behavior  of  the  people  during 


326    GEILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

the  first  days  of  the  revolution  as  "charming."  "It  was 
the  gayest  revolution  imaginable.  Favored  by  the  most 
beautiful  spring  weather,  the  entire  population  was  in  the 
streets  from  morning  till  night.  When  the  crowd  reached 
the  vicinity  of  the  imperial  Burg,  where  the  military  with 
their  cannon  had  been  stationed,  there  arose  loud  shouts 
of  joy,  which  those  within  the  Burg  interpreted  as  threats 
against  their  lives;  so  that  they  conceded  everything  de- 
manded by  some  impudent  fellows,  who  represented  them- 
selves as  deputies  of  the  people.  In  fact  it  became  the 
fashion  for  any  one  who  chose  to  do  so,  to  demand  admis- 
sion into  the  Burg,  bring  his  fist  down  upon  the  table,  and 
insult  the  archdukes  to  their  faces. 

"Those  who  were  inspired  by  the  sincerest  conviction, 
and  who  at  the  same  time  acted  most  absurdly,  were  the 
students,  who  considered  themselves  the  heroes  of  the  oc- 
casion. As  there  seemed  to  be  some  hesitation  about  grant- 
ing a  constitution,  they  wanted  to  storm  the  Burg.  They 
thought  less  of  victory  than  of  the  glory  of  dying  for  the 
cause  of  liberty.  They  scrambled  for  the  honor  of  leading 
in  the  assault.  I  have  myself  seen  how  the  younger  and 
weaker  ones  among  them  asked  to  be  placed  in  front,  so 
that,  after  they  had  been  shot  down,  the  older  and  stronger 
might  be  able  to  hurl  themselves  upon  the  guns  before  there 
was  time  to  reload  them.  One  of  the  professors,  who  was 
far  from  sharing  in  the  popular  excitement,  said  to  me :  ^I 
am  convinced  they  will  storm  the  Burg.'  At  last  the 
promise  of  a  constitution  was  given.  The  emperor  drove 
through  the  streets.  He  was  everywhere  greeted  with 
shouts  of  joy,  cheers,  expressions  of  love  and  devotion — 
the  outburst  of  true  and  loyal  hearts. 


THE  EEVOLUTION  OF  1848  327 

"I  myself  was  doomed  to  remain  passive.  My  convic- 
tions being  in  every  respect  opposed  to  the  general  en- 
thusiasm, there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  keep  aloof. 
I  hailed  the  advent  of  liberty  in  a  poem  to  my  country, 
which,  however,  contained  the  most  emphatic  warning 
against  the  folly  of  imitating  the  silly  and  wicked  doings 
of  France  and  Germany.  The  poem  was  well  received, 
including  the  warning,  although  no  one  seemed  to  have  the 
faintest  idea  that  any  warning  was  needed.  I  may,  per- 
haps, take  this  opportunity  of  justifying  my  lack  of  en- 
thusiasm for  the  cause  of  liberty.  Despotism  has  ruined 
my  life,  at  least  my  literary  life ;  I  may  therefore  claim  to 
have  a  just  perception  of  the  value  of  liberty.  But  the 
revolutionary  movement  of  1848  threatened  to  destroy 
my  fatherland,  which  I  loved  with  almost  childish  devo- 
tion, and  the  struggle  for  liberty  seemed  to  me  partic- 
ularly ill-timed.  In  Germany,  which  ever  dreams  of 
progress,  education  had  developed  such  general  incapacity, 
unnaturalness  and  exaggeration,  together  with  conceit,  that 
there  seemed  no  hope  of  any  rational  and  conservative  out- 
come. .  .  .  Liberty  calls,  above  all,  for  sound  common 
sense  and  self-restraint,  and  these  were  lamentably  lacking 
in  Germany." 

The  inconsistencies  of  reasoning  apparent  in  this  plea 
illustrate  in  a  far  less  degree  Grillparzer's  distrust  of  his 
countrymen  and  the  liberal  movement  throughout  Europe 
than  his  habitual  distrust  of  himself  when  called  upon  to 
act.  Penned  in  a  hypochondriacal  hour,  and  never  in- 
tended for  publicity,  these  self -revelations  must  be  judged 
not  by  themselves,  but  in  the  light  furnished  by  Grill- 
parzer's  bearing  throughout  his  life.     If  he  distrusted  the 


328    GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAIST  DEAMA 

immaturity  of  youthful  enthusiasm,  however  laudable  its 
aims,  he  had  still  less  faith  in  the  promises  of  the  great; 
and  he  was  no  more  inclined  to  seek  the  applause  of  the 
populace  than  to  win  the  favor  of  ministers  and  kings. 

His  political  vision,  it  is  true,  was  not  always  clear. 
It  was  not  infrequently  clouded  by  prejudice,  and  he  was 
unconsciously  influenced  by  that  dramatic  instinct  which 
fastened  upon  certain  picturesque  incidents  of  Metternich's 
career — such  as  his  admiration  for  Byron — and  exag- 
gerated their  importance.  His  cooler  judgments  of  men 
and  measures,  however,  were  prompted  by  a  profound  love 
of  truth,  which  triumphed  over  personal  whims.  For  his 
real  estimate  of  Metternich  we  must  turn  to  an  exhaustive 
essay,  written  in  1839,  in  which  the  claims  of  the  then 
all-powerful  chancellor  to  the  title  of  statesman  are 
examined  and  rejected  with  merciless  logic.  He  sums  up 
the  case  practically  in  the  words  of  Napoleon  at  St. 
Helena,  who  spoke  of  Metternich  contemptuously  as 
"bugiardo,  bugiardo  e  niente  che  bugiardo"  (a  fraud,  a 
fraud,  and  nothing  but  a  fraud). 

"This  sounds  harsh,"  says  Grillparzer,  "but  if  one 
translates  the  somewhat  coarse  language  of  the  barracks 
into  that  of  polite  society,  and  calls  him  an  intriguer,  an 
intriguer,  and  nothing  but  an  intriguer,  one  is  pretty  near 
the  truth.  His  imaginary  and  pretended  assumption  of 
convictions  and  principles  had  only  this  pitiful  result,  that 
by  dint  of  sheer  repetition  he  finally  began  to  believe  in 
his  own  falsehoods — a  state  of  mind  which  always  marks 
the  point  where  the  cheat  merges  into  the  one  who  is  being 
cheated.  Metternich  did  not  escape  this  fate,  and  he  who 
began  as  gran  tacano   (arrant  knave)   finished  as  Don 


THE  REVOLUTION-  OF  1848  329 

Quixote."  This  characterization  of  Metternich  recurs 
also  in  Grillparzer's  well-known  "anticipatory  epitaph"  on 
him: 

"Hier  liegt,  fiir  seinen  Ruhm  zu  spat, 
Der  Don  Quixote  der  Legitimitat, 
Der  Falsch  und  Wahr  nach  seinem  Sinne  bog, 
Zuerst  die  Andern,  dann  sich  selbst  betrog; 
Vom  Schelm  zum  Thoren  ward  bei  grauem  Haupte, 
Weil  er  zuletzt  die  eignen  Liigen  glaubte." 

(Here  lies — too  late  for  fame,  the  muse  insists — 

The  Don  Quixote  of  Legitimists, 

Who  in  the  field  of  politics 

The  true  and  false  would  deftly  mix, 

A  knave  when  young,  a  fool  became  when  old. 

Believing  all  the  lies  himself  had  told.) 

The  bitterness  of  Grillparzer's  arraignment  of  Ger- 
many is  but  the  protest  of  the  Austrian  patriot  against 
the  domineering  spirit  of  a  country  which,  neverthe- 
less, it  was  the  wish  of  his  life  to  see  indissolubly 
linked  with  his  own  in  common  intellectual  endeavor. 
It  is  true  enough,  however,  that,  as  Laube  says,  he  lived 
in  a  state  of  constant  irritation  toward  Germany,  and  it 
is  therefore  not  surprising  that  a  ITorth  German  critic 
could  write:  '^Grillparzer  is  an  Austrian  poet,  who  hap- 
pened not  to  have  written  in  the  Magyar  or  Czech  tongue, 
but  in  German.  His  works  cannot  be  considered  as  mani- 
festations of  the  German  spirit."  And  yet  in  dozens  of 
passages  Grillparzer  gave  utterance  to  his  admiration  of 
those  German  traits  in  which  his  own  countrymen  were 
lacking.  "Let  us  send  our  young  men  to  North  Ger- 
many," he  wrote,  "that  they  may  learn  something,  and  let 


330    GRILLPARZEK  AND  THE  AFSTEIAN  DRAMA 

them  send  young  iNiorth  Germans  to  us,  that  they  may 
warm  up."  'No  one  indeed  understood  and  deplored  the 
weaknesses  of  his  beloved  Austria  better  than  he.  "Cath- 
olicism," he  said,  "is  at  the  bottom  of  all  our  troubles. 
Give  us  a  history  of  two  hundred  years  as  a  Protestant 
state,  and  we  shall  be  the  most  powerful  and  most  gifted 
of  all  German  peoples.  As  it  is,  we  have  only  talent  for 
music  and — the  Concordat." 

Prof.  Johannes  Volkelt  has  in  his  philosophical  analy- 
sis of  Grillparzer's  genius  and  character  laid  bare  the 
causes  of  the  mutual  misunderstanding  between  him  and 
his  German  critics.  "In  his  relations  with  Germany,"  he 
says,  "we  are  confronted  with  his  lack  of  skill  in  practical 
matters.  He  repeatedly  declined  the  offer  of  the  firm  of 
F.  A.  Brockhaus  to  publish  his  works,  and  stuck  to  his  in- 
active Austrian  publisher.  His  works  would  have  been 
far  better  known  in  Germany  had  he  accepted  that  offer. 
His  poems,  moreover,  were  never  printed  anywhere  but  in 
Austrian  periodicals,  and  he  published  no  edition  of  his 
collected  works.  And  just  as  he  neglected  in  Weimar  the 
invaluable  opportunity  to  draw  closer  to  Goethe,  so  he  never 
knew  how  to  enter  into  literary  ties  which  might  have  been 
of  value  to  him  in  Germany.  Such  scorn  of  the  dictates 
of  common  prudence  certainly  reveals  his  pure  and  un- 
selfish principles,  and  in  particular  the  chasteness  of  his 
relations  toward  Germany;  but  at  the  same  time  his  con- 
duct shows  that  he  was  neglectful  of  his  duty  toward  him- 
self." 

If  the  poem  addressed  by  Grillparzer  to  his  countrymen 
in  March,  1848  ("Mein  Vaterland"),  with  its  subdued 
acclaim  of  the  new  era,  passed  almost  unnoticed,  the  lines 


THE  EEVOLUTION  OF  1848  331 

to  Fieldmarshal  Radetzky,  written  in  the  following  June, 
created  an  extraordinary  sensation.     The  stirring  words: 

"Gliick  auf,  mein  Feldherr,  fiihre  den  Streich! 
Nicht  bloss  um  des  Euhmes  Schimmer, 
In  deinem  Lager  ist  Oesterreich, 

Wir  Andern  sind  einzelne  Triimmer." 

(All  hail,  my  general!     Strike  the  blow. 

By  glory's  call  unflattered! 
Thy  camp  alone  holds  Austria, 

We  are  but  fragments  scattered.) 

met  with  an  instantaneous  response  throughout  Austria, 
and  far  beyond.  The  government  and  the  army  hailed  the 
poet  as  the  saviour  of  his  country.  His  verses  were  trans- 
lated into  all  the  languages  of  the  monarchy;  Radetzky 
had  them  read  aloud  to  his  assembled  officers,  and  they 
were  equally  admired  at  the  court  of  Berlin,  particularly 
by  the  Prince  of  Prussia,  subsequently  Emperor  Will- 
iam I.  The  Austrian  army  expressed  its  gratitude  by  pre- 
senting Grillparzer  with  a  goblet,  and  the  prime  minister. 
Prince  Felix  Schwarzenberg,  called  on  him  personally,  to 
hand  him  the  order  of  Leopold,  which  the  emperor  had 
conferred  upon  him. 

Public  opinion  in  different  parts  of  the  monarchy  recog- 
nized, on  the  whole,  the  patriotic  motive  which  had 
prompted  the  verses;  but  Vienna  itself  resented  Grill- 
parzer's  fervent  glorification  of  the  military  power.  Revo- 
lutionists denounced  him  as  a  reactionary,  and  for  years  to 
come  even  moderate  liberals  regarded  with  a  certain  sus- 
picion the  man  who  had  thus  earned  the  enthusiastic  en- 
comium of  the  old  regime. 


332    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Grillparzer  was  unmoved  alike  by  praise  and  censure. 
He  was  indifferent  to  the  personal  consequences  of  his 
spontaneous  act.  During  the  turbulent  days  of  the  revo- 
lution he  had  gone  with  the  Frohlichs  to  Baden,  a  summer 
resort  near  Vienna,  and  he  did  not  return  to  the  city  until 
order  was  restored.  Then  he  took  up  his  abode  with  three 
of  the  sisters  (the  fourth  was  married)  in  the  modest  dwell- 
ing, up  four  flights  of  stairs,  in  the  Spiegelgasse,  where  he 
resided  for  more  than  twenty  years,  until  his  death. 

Amid  the  storm  and  stress  of  the  revolution  one  of 
Grillparzer^s  most  beautiful  works,  the  story,  "Der  arme 
Spielmann"  (The  Poor  Musician),  which  had  appeared  in 
1847,  was  forgotten.  But  its  intrinsic  merits  secured  for 
it  universal  recognition  when  the  days  of  uproar  were 
over.  "Der  arme  Spielmann,"  with  its  simple  pathos,  its 
deep  insight  into  the  soul  of  a  being  possessed  by  a  passion 
for  music,  but  without  a  spark  of  musical  talent,  is  con- 
sidered one  of  the  gems  of  German  fiction.  It  contains 
some  telling  autobiographic  touches  and  could  have  been 
written  only  by  one  as  steeped  in  music  as  Grillparzer  was. 
The  only  other  story  which  he  wrote,  "Das  Kloster  bei 
Sendomir,"  is  more  elaborate  as  to  plot,  but  artistically  far 
less  perfect  than  "Der  arme  Spielmann."  It  has  been 
dramatized  by  Gerhart  Hauptmann,  under  the  title  of 
"Elga." 


XVII 


ESTHER 


Thanks  to  the  intelligent  exertions  of  Laube,  the  early 
fifties  witnessed  a  resurrection  of  Grillparzer's  dramatic 
fame.  "Des  Meeres  und  der  Liebe  Wellen"  was  triumph- 
antly produced  in  1851,  but  the  success  of  the  tragedy 
which  twenty  years  previously  had  been  so  coolly  received 
surprised  rather  than  gratified  him.  When  told  of  it,  he 
merely  shook  his  head,  and  asked  what  accident  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  changed  verdict  of  the  public.  Even  the 
enthusiastic  plaudits  which  accompanied  the  performance 
of  ^'Das  goldene  Yliess,"  a  little  later  on,  failed  to  remove 
his  scepticism.  "Strange  indeed!"  he  exclaimed.  And 
when  success  followed  success,  and  "Ottokar"  and  "Ein 
treuer  Diener"  made  an  equally  deep  impression  on  the 
new  generation  of  theatre  goers,  he  was  merely  moved  to 
the  pathetic  remark :  'Too  late,  it  is  too  late."  There  can 
be  no  doubt,  however,  says  Laube,  that  secretly  the  growth 
of  his  fame  pleased  him  as  much  as  the  former  indifference 
of  the  public  had  hurt  him. 

Whatever  gratification  he  may  have  felt  was  late  in  his 
life  enhanced  by  the  enthusiastic  reception,  at  the  Burg- 
theater,  of  his  "Esther,"  a  dramatic  fragment  in  two  acts, 
which  he  allowed  to  be  performed  on  the  28th  of  April, 
1868.  Perhaps  no  other  play  of  his  achieved  so  great 
a  triumph,  and  its   subsequent  equally  enthusiastic  re- 


334    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

ception  in  Germany  paved  the  way  for  the  final  recog- 
nition of  his  merits  on  the  part  of  the  greater  father- 
land. 

"Esther,"  in  the  opinion  of  most  critics,  bears  the  im- 
press of  the  period  of  Grillparzer's  maturest  powers.  It 
is  generally  conceded  that  if  the  last  three  acts  had  kept 
the  promise  of  the  first  two,  ^'Esther"  would  have  been 
the  equal  of  his  best  plays.  Grillparzer  was  familiar  with 
Kacine's  drama,  as  well  as  with  Lope  de  Vega's  "La 
hermosa  Ester''  and  Godinez's  "Aman  y  Mardoqueo." 
After  reading  Lope  de  Vega's  work,  in  1828,  he  wrote: 
"This  man  takes  hold  of  me  more  than  is  good  for  a  modern 
poet";  but  he  emancipated  himself  in  his  own  "Esther" 
from  all  his  predecessors  in  the  dramatic  treatment  of  the 
Biblical  story.  His  Esther  bears  a  certain  resemblance 
to  the  character  of  Hero  in  "Des  Meeres  und  der  Liebe 
Wellen,"  both  in  her  rebellious  attitude  toward  her  uncle, 
and  in  the  sudden  flaming  up  of  an  affection  artfully  sup- 
pressed at  first.  It  would  have  been  difficult  for  the  poet, 
had  he  finished  his  play,  to  surpass  the  dramatic  interest 
of  the  scene  in  which  Esther  and  the  king  first  meet. 

Haman,  in  whom  Grillparzer  satirizes  the  empty-headed, 
conscienceless  courtier  who  had  become  so  familiar  to  him, 
is  confronted  with  the  failure  of  his  scheme  to  find  a  wife 
for  the  king: 

IlaTnan, 

It  would  appear  my  plan  suits  not  the  king. 
'Tis  hard  indeed  to  gauge  a  master's  whims. 
The  faithful  servant  finds  his  own  reward 
In  knowing  that  he  strove  for  what  is  good. 

(To  the  councillors.) 


ESTHER  335 

The  Lord  be  with  you,  gentlemen! 

{They  turn  away  from  Mm.) 
They  hear  not, 
That  is  to  say,  they  turn  as  blows  the  wind. 
What  stupid  girls  those  were,  devoid  of  sense, 
And  veritable  scarecrows  in  appearance! 
Have  Persia's  handsome  wives  no  fairer  daughters? 
God  willed  it  so.    But  those  in  whom  I  trusted. 
Who  for  me  bartered  and  the  goods  selected, 
I  mean  to  smite  them  with  my  wrathful  sword, 
Though  who  in  future  is  to  frown  or  tremble 
Is  still  in  doubt. 

(To  the  councillors,) 
K  so  you  please,  my  lords — 

(They  depart.) 
They  manifestly  think  me  lost.    O  God, 
Is  there  no  hope? 

(He  notices  Esther.) 
A  single  one  remains. 
The  master  after  all  saw  but  the  herd, 
That  swarming  in  the  halls  were  shown  to  him. 
The  best  of  them  and  most  conspicuous, 
Those  wisely  set  apart  in  special  rooms, 
Are  still  unseen,  above  all  this  one  here. 
She  has  good  breeding,  sense  and  mother  wit. 
But  give  me  worldly  shrewdness,  first  of  all. 

(He  approaches  Esther.) 
My  child,  the  present  hour  means  much  to  us. 
Esther. 

Tons? 
Haman. 

To  you  and  me.    The  king  is  near. 
Esther. 

That  is  important  only  to  yourself. 
Haman, 

To  me?    And  if  his  choice  should  fall  on  you? 


336     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA  j 

Esther.  j 
I  do  not  fear  to  please  his  Majesty. 

Haman.  i 

She  does  not  fear !    O  monstrous  lack  of  sense !  3 

And  yet  not  badly  said.    At  least  His  novel.  I 
Such  speech  finds  favor.    Others  did  proclaim 
Their  worth  from  house-tops;  she,  she  "does  not  fear." 

Continue  so,  and  if  this  be  deceit,  ] 
See  that  you  stick  to  it  without  a  break; 

If  truth — why,  then  indeed  Hwere  rather  worse —  i 

Yet  even  truth  may  sometimes  useful  be.  J 

Above  all,  bear  in  mind  my  well-meant  service,  I 

I  planned  thy  welfare — as  of  all  the  rest —  i 

And  all  my  happiness  turns  on  this  day,  | 

For  at  a  court  there  is  no  less,  nor  more;  1 

You  please  or  displease,  and  if  you  displease,  I 

Your  life  is  over,  long  before  your  death.  1 

Think  of  all  this,  and  shrewdly  act,  my  child.  ^ 

I  feel  as  though  I  ought  to  bow  before  thee,  ? 

And  grasp  thy  knees  in  my  extremity.  J 

Who  comes?    The  king  himself.    The  end  is  near.  ] 

Esther.  j 

I  almost  pity  this  weak,  silly  man.  j 

(Enter  king  with  attendants,  who  retire.)  i 

King. 

Here  do  I  find  you,  my  sagacious  councillor,  i 

Whose  counsel  this  time  scarcely  counselled  well  ?  j 

And  for  good  reason.    We  all  seek  our  like,  I 

And  vulgar  counsel  gives  who  vulgar  is.  i 

So  are  they  all,  all.    When  they  tell  their  lies. 

They  think  them  wisdom.    Treachery  is  prudence,  ) 

And  harshness,  purpose  firm.    Be  pitiless  1 

And  deaf  when  fellow-men  implore  your  help,  • 

'Tis  proof  of  vast  design  that  scorns  the  small.  1 

And  if,  perchance,  taught  in  their  daily  traffic, 

Or  by  a  whispering  friend,  a  trick  or  two,  \ 


ESTHER  337 

A  something  others  know  not,  each  believes 

He's  wiser  far  than  all  the  sages  were. 

My  palace  shall  be  cleared  of  what  defiles  it. 

One  useful  purpose  anger  serves,  I  see: 

It  stirs  to  action  our  dejected  mood. 

(To  Esther,) 

For  thee,  my  child,  there's  nothing  more  to  do. 

Permission  is  now  granted  thee  to  leave. 

{Esther  hows  and  turns  toward  the  door.) 
King, 

Thou  go*st  so  gladly  I  suspect  forsooth 

That  forcibly  they  brought  thee  to  this  spot. 

Thus  adding  guilt  to  previous  wrong  and  crime. 

{Turning  to  Raman.) 
Esther. 

Not  forcibly. 

King. 

Then  camest  thou  willing  here? 
Esther. 

I  came,  as  now  I  go,  because  commanded. 

King, 

And  without  sorrow  for  thy  blighted  hope? 

Esther, 
Hope? 


Why  you  all  were  called,  thou  knowest  well. 
Esther. 

Say,  rather,  that  my  fear  is  now  dispelled. 
This  man,  however — ^though  what  he  proposed 
Lacked  sense — erred  less  by  ill-considered  ways 
Than  from  excess  of  zeal,  as  seems  to  me. 

King. 

You  find  his  project,  too,  devoid  of  sense? 
Esther. 

What  else? 


338     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

King  (to  Haman). 

Hear^st  thou? 

(To  Esther.) 
Still,  on  the  other  hand — 
Thou,  girl,  seem'st  wise — and  yet  it  may  be  said. 
And  natural  I  deem  it,  that  a  man 
Who  droops  when  separated  from  his  wife. 
Be  other  women  shown,  to  choose  anew. 

(To  Haman.) 
Thou  shouldst  not  listen,  go! 

Haman. 

But— 
King, 

I  have  spoken! 
It  galls  me  e'er  to  hear  my  voice's  sound. 
An  empty  echo,  as  my  sole  response. 

(Exit  Haman.) 
Thou  owest  still  an  answer  to  my  question. 
Esther. 

My  lord  is  jesting  with  his  lowly  maid. 
King. 

What  wouldst  thou  then  suggest  in  such  a  case? 
Esther, 
I? 
King, 

Thou,  I  say. 
Esther, 

I — ^nothing. 
King. 

That  were  cruel. 
Esther. 

The  sick  are  to  be  healed,  those  low  in  spirits 
One  safely  leaves  to  time  and  to  the  world. 
King. 

And  if  the  world  have  grossly  sinned  against  them? 


ESTHER  339 

Esther. 

We  sin  so  much,  my  lord,  against  the  world. 
That  in  the  reckoning  we  are  still  its  debtors. 

King. 

Thou  dost  not  flatter. 

Esther. 

Of  what  use  were  flattery? 

King. 

We  kings,  it  has  been  said,  upon  the  world 
Bestow  such  happiness  that  all  its  gifts 
Eeturned  to  us  still  leave  the  debt  unpaid. 

Esther. 

It  may  not  be  quite  so. 

King. 

Think 'st  thou?     Perhaps. 
But  there  remains  unanswered  still  the  question: 
What  action  is  there  called  for  in  my  case? 
Thou  disapprov'st  my  choosing  one  of  many. 
Nought  else  remains  but  turning  to  the  one. 

Esther. 

So  be  it. 

King. 

And  the  one  you  mean  should  be — ? 


I  guess  her  answer,  and  all  this  pretence 

Of  seeming  innocence,  straightforward  speech. 

Was  but  the  mask  of  a  concealed  purpose. 

You  seem  to  hesitate. 
Esther. 

Not  so,  my  king. 

King. 

And  this  one,  name  her!    Speak,  without  delay  1 
Her  name  assuredly  you  know. 

^^*^^''-  Vashti, 

Your  queen. 


(Aside,) 


(Loud.) 


340    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA         j 

King  (in  surprise). 

In  truth!    Her  name  do  you  pronounce?  ; 

Esther.  j 

O  call  her  back,  call  back  your  happiness!  J 

To  seek  new  ties  is  seeking  a  new  venture.  \ 
With  her  alone  your  life  resumes  its  course.                             '    I 

And  as  the  wound,  closed  by  a  skilful  hand,  ] 

Invisibly  and  slowly  heals  at  last,  j 

The  fibres  torn  together  knit  again,  1 

The  inborn  healing  power  building  bridges  I 

That  lead  from  cell  to  cell,  supplying  blood —  { 

So  shall  you  stand,  once  more  restored  to  health,  1 

In  all  your  former  manly  strength  and  beauty.  ; 

Say  not,  she  has  defects,  lacks  this  or  that,  j 
For  woman  is  but  part  of  man's  own  self. 

And  who  has  e'er  cut  off  his  arm  in  spite,  J 

Because  he  liked  it  not,  lopped  off  his  foot  \ 

Because  too  long  it  seemed,  gouged  out  his  eye  : 

Because  'twas  brown,  not  blue  ?    Bear  your  light  load,  I 

That  friendly  hands  may  help  you  bear  the  heavy.  i 

And  if  you  found  the  crown  of  womankind,  j 

Could  you  bestow  on  her  the  recollections  i 

Which  she  inherits  from  the  days  of  youth,  i 

When  life  first  blossomed,  pliant  every  wish,  j 

And  sudden  impulse,  sweet  alike  and  bitter,  j 

Transformed  her,  as  is  changed  the  grafted  branch,  ] 

One  with  the  stem  through  undivided  fruit?  ] 

Old  age,  my  lord,  as  manifests  my  uncle,  j 

Is  wise  and  prudent;  youth,  howe'er,  is  sacred.  < 
Preserve  your  own  by  keeping  her  you  loved. 

King.  j 

Speaks  thy  experience  thus?  1 

Esther,  I 

WTiat  means  your  question? 
King. 

Know'st  thou  what  love  is? 


ESTHER                                    341  1 

Esther.  I 

And  why  should  you  ask? 

Our  talk  does  not  concern  me,  but  yourself;  I 

My  own  way  easily  I  find  alone.  j 

King,  | 

What  is  thy  name?  i 

Esther, 

'Tis  simply  Esther,  sir. 

Though  I  am  called  Hadassa  by  our  neighbors.  J 

I  need  no  counsellor,  advice  or  help,  « 

Alone  I  rid  myself  of  vexing  cares ;  i 
But  you,  upon  your  solitary  height. 

Who  bear  the  burden  of  the  multitude,  J 

You  need  a  helping  hand,  you  need  the  wife  i 

To  whom  you  may  transfer  your  weighty  load,  1 

Exclaiming:  "Stop,  that  I  may  pause  and  breathe!"  I 

0  that — if  you  mistrust  the  men  here  at  your  court —  \ 
You  might  approach  me,  saying:  Go,  Hadassa,  I 
And  bring  her  back  who  brought  me  happiness,  ^ 
The  longed-for  friend  whom  no  one  can  replace !  ^ 

King.  i 
Thou  know'st  then  where  she  is? 

Esther. 

Ah,  you  suspect  me  I 

You  look  for  faith,  and  have  it  not?    Seek  trust  | 

While  harboring  suspicion?    Poor,  poor  prince!  I 

Fair  things  and  good  you  buy  not,  but  exchange,  j 

Receiving  just  as  much  as  you  have  given.  j 

King.  ] 

1  tell  thee  that  thou  knowest  not  the  woman  | 
For  whom  thou  speak'st,  else  less  warm  were  thy  praise ;  1 
For  she  is  proud,  j 

Esther, 

Of  you. 
King, 

Revengeful,  i 

I 


342     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

Esther. 

Give  her  no  cause  to  seek  revenge. 
King. 

And  jealous — 
Esther. 

The  jealousy  of  woman  e'er  is  love, 

Man  oft  is  jealous  but  from  vanity. 

King. 

Well,  then,  she  loves  me  not.    Hear'st  thou,  Hadassa? 

She  loves  me  not,  nor  ever  truly  loved. 

Thou  shak'st  thy  head.    Dost  thou  believe  me  not? 

Esther. 

O  that  were  sad  indeed ! 
King. 

It  is,  it  is,  Hadassa. 
Esther. 

Yet  do  I  think,  my  lord — 
King. 

What? 
Esther. 


What  love  deserves. 
King. 

Do  you? 
Esther. 


That  one  loves 


I  mean  the  queen. 


King. 

And  all  this  say'st  thou  with  averted  gaze? 

Esther. 

Why  should  I  talk,  indeed?    If  wrong  my  thought, 
Advice  were  useless,  action  were  belated. 
But  I  had  better  go.    My  uncle  waits, 
Perhaps  my  tarrying  has  made  him  anxious. 
I  barely  know  the  door  by  which  I  entered. 


ESTHER  343 

King  (pointing  to  the  side-door  on  the  right). 

I  think  'tis  this. 
Esther. 

Farewell,  my  sovereign,  then. 
And  if— 
King. 

What  meanest  thou? 
Esther. 

If  too  bold  my  speech — 
King. 

Not  bold,  but  true.    I  hope  thy  very  silence 
Spoke  but  the  truth. 
Esther. 

I  know  not  what  you  mean. 
Again,  my  lord,  farewelll 
King. 

Farewell,  Hadassal 

(Exit  Esther.) 
King. 

Haman ! 
Haman  {entering). 

My  gracious  lord ! 
King, 

Who  is  that  maiden? 
Whence  came  she?    Are  her  parents  known  to  you? 
Haman. 

If  you  command,  search  shall  be  made  at  once. 
King. 

No,  stay  I 
Haman. 

And  are  you  still  displeased,  my  lord? 
King  {extending  his  hand  to  him  to  he  hissed). 
Chance  oft  corrects  the  sins  of  blundering  wit. 

{He  motions  to  Haman  to  retire.    Esther  returns.) 
Esther. 

No  exit  here !    A  wilderness  of  rooms 
That  multiply  in  gorgeous  repetition, 


344    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

And  servants  everywhere  whose  silent  bow 
Accords  with  all  this  solitude  and  silence ! 
No  exit 's  here,  my  lord ! 

King, 

An  entrance  then  I 

Know  these  were  my  own  rooms! 
Esther. 

O  woe  is  me  I 
King. 

Dost  thou  think  so?    And  if  it  were  thy  lot 

In  future  in  these  very  rooms  perhaps — 
Esther  (pointing  to  the  middle  door  and  approaching  it). 

Here  is  the  door  through  which  I  came — I  see  it. 
King  (placing  himself  before  the  door). 

You  shall  not  stir  until  you  answer  me. 

What  if  I  said  to  you :    Remain,  Hadassa, 

And  try  to  find  me,  as  you  I  have  found? 

Esther. 

You  know  that  I  must  leave. 
King  (ohstructing  her  way). 

Not  ere  you  speak. 
Esther. 

Not  noble  is  your  act! 

King. 

A  word  you  utter 
Which  opens  like  a  magic  wand  all  gates. 
Force  reigns  not  here. 

(Retiring  from  the  door.) 
And  you  are  free  to  go. 
But  yet  you  leave  not — linger  ?    Ah,  Hadassa, 
Though  longing  now  to  leave,  yet  scarcely  gone. 
Thou  wilt  be  seized  with  longing  to  return  I 
Affection  born  of  equal  sympathies 
Does  not  touch  one  and  leave  the  other  free. 


ESTHER  345 

A  close  approach  means  closeness  of  the  two, 
And  you  must  bear  what  you  to  others  do, 

(Pointing  to  the  middle  door.) 
Outside  the  court's  confused  noise  prevails. 
Here  stillness  reigns 

(Pointing  to  the  side  door.) 
and  quiet  contemplation; 
'Tis  pleasant  here  to  gather  fruitful  thought. 
Nor  is  there  wanting  what  decorum  calls  for. 
(At  a  signal  from  him  slaves  enter,  who  range  themselves  on 
hoth  sides.    One  of  them  holds  a  golden  wreath.) 
See  them  fulfil  a  task  beforehand  taught. 
They  bear  a  golden  wreath  meant  for  the  chosen. 
And  know  not  that  in  vain  has  been  my  choice. 

(He  takes  the  wreath.) 
What  if  you  tried  how  well  the  wreath  becomes? 
(8he  makes  a  motion  as  if  in  protest,  and  he  gives  the  wreath 
hack  to  the  slave.) 

Ah,  well  I  knew,  no  happiness  awaits  me, 
A  lonely  road  I  follow  to  my  tomb. 

(Esther  seizes  the  wreath  and  places  it  upon  her  head,) 
King. 

Hadassa ! 

(As  she  is  about  to  remove  the  wreath.) 
Pause!    Stay!    Do  not  touch  the  wreath! 
Decide  not  now,  Hadassa !    Not  this  moment ! 
Take  her  in  there,  for  rest  and  ripe  reflection ! 
Myself  to  yon  apartments  shall  retire. 
And  if  when  has  an  hour  elapsed  I  come. 
And  once  more  ask:    Hadassa,  speak! 
Esther  (who  stops  at  the  threshold).  -^^  lord! 

King. 

Enough !    Thy  voice  has  clearly  told  me  all. 
Away  ye  all,  away !    Myself  shall  lead  her. 

(Clasping  her  within  his  arms.) 
And  what  thou  mean'st  to  do  confide  to  me ! 


346    GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DEAMA 

Many  have  been  the  conjectures  as  to  why  Grillparzer 
abandoned  the  continuation  of  a  play  so  admirably  begun. 
According  to  Frau  von  Littrow-Bischoff  ("Aus  dem  per- 
sonlichen  Verkehre  mit  Grillparzer"),  he  intended  to 
treat  in  the  remaining  acts  the  relations  of  church  and 
state  and  make  the  play,  as  it  were,  a  plea  for  religious 
tolerance.  Ehrhard  suggests  that  Grillparzer  probably 
dreaded  a  conflict  with  the  censorship,  which  would  cer- 
tainly have  been  provoked  by  the  liberties  he  intended  to 
take  with  the  Bible  story.  More  likely  still,  the  authorities 
would  have  objected  to  the  play  for  political  reasons.  For 
even  in  the  first  two  acts  the  allusions  to  existing  condi- 
tions in  Austria  were  obvious.  But  like  Schiller's  "Deme- 
trius," Grillparzer's  "Esther"  has  taken  its  place  in  German 
literature.  Even  as  a  torso,  it  retains  its  hold  on  the 
audiences  wherever  the  German  language  is  spoken.  Per- 
haps no  other  of  Grillparzer's  works  has  evoked  such 
unanimous  praise  from  modern  critics.  Even  Wilhelm 
Scherer,  who  could  never  free  himself  from  a  certain 
critical  coolness  toward  his  great  compatriot,  testifies  that 
of  all  his  plays  "Esther"  made  the  deepest  impression 
upon  him. 

In  1856  Grillparzer  retired  from  the  government  ser- 
vice with  the  title  of  court  councillor  and  a  pension 
equal  to  his  full  salary  (about  $1,000).  Austria  hence- 
forth endeavored  to  make  amends  for  her  former  neglect 
of  her  greatest  genius.  At  the  festivities  connected  with 
the  centenary  of  Schiller's  birth,  in  1859,  he  received  an 
ovation  as  enthusiastic  as  it  was  unpremeditated.  He  was 
present  at  the  banquet  and  listened  to  the  speeches  in  honor 
of  the  poet,  but  when  he  noticed  that  the  occasion  was 


ESTHEK  347 

seized  for  paying  tribute  to  his  own  achievements,  he 
quietly  left  the  hall,  without  giving  any  outward  token 
of  satisfaction.  Having  been  called  to  the  Austrian  House 
of  Peers  by  the  emperor,  under  the  Schmerling  ministry, 
in  1861,  he  took  his  new  duties  seriously  and  attended 
the  sittings  on  all  important  occasions,  voting  consistently 
with  the  Liberal  Centrists,  the  party  that  upheld  the 
supremacy  of  the  German  element.  During  the  great 
debate  preceding  the  abrogation  of  the  Concordat,  in  1868, 
a  deep  impression  was  produced  by  the  appearance  of 
the  aged  poet  in  the  Upper  House,  arm  in  arm  with  his 
friend  Count  Anton  Auersperg  ("Anastasius  Griin"),  both 
among  the  most  pronounced  opponents  of  the  compact  with 
Rome.  The  great  public  ovations  in  honor  of  his  eightieth 
birthday  disturbed  and  annoyed,  rather  than  pleased,  him. 
While  all  the  celebrities  of  Vienna  were  assembled  in  the 
hall  of  the  Musikverein  to  do  homage  to  Austria's  great 
poet  ^'he  sat,"  as  Laube  relates,  ^'in  his  little  room,  a  few 
blocks  away,  intent  upon  his  book.  I  found  him  there, 
thus  occupied,  immediately  after  the  celebration,  about 
which  I  wanted  to  tell  him.  But  he  made  a  deprecatory 
motion  with  his  hand,  and  passed  me  the  book  with  some 
remark  about  its  contents.'' 

The  poet  retained  his  mental  vigor  and  a  fair  amount 
of  physical  strength  to  the  end ;  his  hearing,  however,  was 
seriously  impaired  during  the  last  eight  years,  owing  to  a 
severe  fall,  and  in  consequence  he  was  deprived  of  the 
solace  of  music — a  loss  which  he  learned  to  bear  philo- 
sophically. 

The  devotion  of  the  Frohlich  sisters  shed  a  peaceful 
radiance   over   his   declining   days.      Frau   von   Littrow- 


348     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

BischofF  has,  in  her  reminiscences  of  Grillparzer,  given  a 
charming  description  of  a  talk  with  the  poet — then  seventy- 
five  years  of  age — while  his  faithful  friends  flitted  in  and 
out  of  the  room. 

"Fraulein  Nettie"  (Anna,  the  oldest)  "discussed  jest- 
ingly the  contradictions  so  often  found  in  those  who  claim 
to  be  superior  to  us,  contradictions  not  only  between  word 
and  action,  but  also  between  word  and  thought.  Her  little 
gibes  at  certain  misanthropic  moods  and  hypochondriacal 
whims,  which  she  roguishly  indulged  in  as  though  they 
were  intended  merely  as  general  remarks,  while  in  reality 
they  were  clearly  aimed  at  the  poet  himself,  gave  a  delight- 
ful impression  of  the  healthy  atmosphere  of  this  home, 
of  the  perfect  candor  and  truth  which,  with  every  mutual 
forbearance,  reigned  in  this  circle  of  superior  beings.  It 
was  a  genuine  pleasure  to  be  present  at  this  merry  war 
of  words,  in  which  ready  mother  wit  and  apt  illustration 
vied  with  each  other. 

"When  Fraulein  Nettie  had  disappeared,  like  the 
dear  little  fairy  she  was,  I  could  not  help  expressing  to 
Grillparzer  how  delightful  it  was  to  see  such  nat- 
ural, unrestrained  intercourse  as  I  had  just  witnessed, 
in  contrast  with  the  stifling  atmosphere  of  incense 
which  so  often  renders  the  homes  of  great  poets  intoler- 
able. 

"He  smiled  and  spoke  of  the  idealism  of  those  three 
ladies,  which  they  had  preserved  in  all  its  freshness,  and 
of  their  artistic  nature,  untouched  by  the  realities  and  vul- 
garities of  life.  All  three  had  retained,  he  said,  the  liveli- 
est interest  in  art  and  poetry,  and  they  joined  to  rare 
accomplishments   in   these    fields   a   childlike   purity   of 


ESTHER  349 

character  which  must  appear  almost  incredible  to  those  who 
did  not  know  them  familiarly. 

"Whatever  Grillparzer  said  about  the  three  sisters  was 
told  with  the  greatest  simplicity,  and  not  with  any  inten- 
tion of  praising  them.  Indeed,  now  and  then  there  was  a 
slightly  critical  flavor  about  his  remarks,  and  therefore 
what  he  said  was  all  the  greater  proof  of  his  friendship 
and  admiration  for  them,  and  a  weightier  testimony  to  his 
high  value  of  their  virtues  than  would  have  been  enthusi- 
astic praise,  which,  by  the  way,  was  foreign  to  his  nature. 

"Whenever,  on  subsequent  occasions,  our  conversation 
turned  upon  these  ladies,  his  remarks  breathed  the  same 
sincere  recognition  of  their  merits,  the  same  affection  and 
veneration,  the  same  absolute  truthfulness,  which  latter 
quality  characterized  everything  in  and  about  him.  He 
hated  artificiality  and  detested  affectation.  ^Naturalness 
and  truth  were  his  very  life,  and  in  this  respect  the  sisters 
were  like  him." 

Grillparzer  died  peacefully  in  his  armchair  on  the  21st 
of  January,  1872,  shortly  after  the  completion  of  his 
eighty-first  year. 

He  left  his  modest  possessions  to  Katharina,  and  she 
devoted  the  entire  sum,  together  with  her  own  savings  and 
the  royalties  from  his  plays  and  other  writings,  to  the  en- 
dowment of  a  fund  established  by  the  poet  in  1871.  Its 
income,  the  "Grillparzer  Prize,"  is  awarded  triennially  to 
the  author  of  the  best  German  play  produced  on  the 
Austrian  or  German  stage  during  the  preceding  three 
years.  Katharina  died  on  the  3d  of  March,  1879.  She 
left  the  furniture  and  other  belongings  of  the  poet  to  the 
city  of  Vienna.     They  are  exhibited  to  the  public  in  the 


350    GEILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

"Grillparzer  Eoom"  of  the  town  hall.  The  papers  relating 
to  Grillparzer  are  in  the  possession  of  the  Imperial 
Library.  They  are  not  to  be  opened  until  the  year  1929. 
Grillparzer's  legacy  to  the  world,  besides  "Libussa/* 
were  the  dramas  "Die  Jiidin  von  Toledo"  and  "Ein 
Bruderzwist  in  Habsburg."  All  three  were  performed  in 
Vienna,  with  varying  success,  not  long  after  the  poet's 
death. 


XVIII 


LIBUSSA 


The  origin  of  "Libussa"  dates  back  to  the  year  1809-10, 
when  Grillparzer  wrote  some  scenes  of  a  play  entitled 
"Drahomira,"  which  was  to  deal  with  the  introduction  of 
Christianity  into  Bohemia  during  the  tenth  century.  He 
returned  to  the  subject  at  intervals,  and  finished 
"Libussa''  in  1847.  Herder,  in  his  '^Stimmen  der  Volker 
in  Liedern,"  had  told  the  story  of  the  advent  of  the  dynasty 
of  the  Przemysls  and  the  founding  of  Prague,  and  Bren- 
tano  had  treated  the  theme  dramatically.  Grillparzer  was 
early  attracted  to  the  subject,  although  he  felt,  as  he  wrote 
in  his  diary,  in  1831,  that  it  possessed  "a  purely  intel- 
lectual interest,  in  which  sentiment,  or  at  least  passion, 
was  almost  absolutely  wanting.''  He  continued  to  occupy 
himself  with  it  at  varying  intervals. 

The  fate  of  the  play  at  its  posthumous  presentation  at 
the  Burgtheater,  on  the  21st  of  January,  1874,  justified 
Laube's  doubts  as  to  its  dramatic  possibilities.  The  public 
failed  to  appreciate  its  legendary  and  symbolic  character, 
and  could  not  grasp  its  wealth  of  thought.  As  a  play  for 
the  stage,  its  diction  undoubtedly  makes  too  serious  a  de- 
mand on  the  attention  of  the  spectator,  while  its  purely 
dramatic  interest  is  feebler  than  that  of  any  other  of 
Grillparzer's  dramas.  ''Whenever  I  read  it,"  says  Scherer, 
"I  feel  as  if  enwrapped  in  dreams  and  haze.    An  uncertain 


352    GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

light  hovers  over  everything.  Dramatic  life  lias  almost 
wholly  disappeared;  wise  enigmatic  sayings  hold  us  cap- 
tive ;  we  reflect  more  than  we  feel ;  we  are  lost  in  thought, 
but  we  are  not  carried  away." 

Libussa,  the  youngest  daughter  of  King  Krokus  of 
Bohemia,  has  gone  into  the  woods  to  gather  healing  herbs ; 
for  her  father  is  dying,  and  her  art  may  save  him.  She 
falls  into  a  stream,  but  is  rescued  by  the  peasant  Primis- 
laus,  and  taken  to  his  hut.  Dressed  in  his  sister's  clothes, 
she  is  led  by  him  to  a  group  of  oak  trees,  where  they  are 
to  separate  forever.  He  surreptitiously  retains  a  part  of 
her  jewelled  belt.  Libussa  returns  to  her  home  on  his 
horse. 

Her  father  is  dead.  Her  sisters,  Kascha  and  Tetka,  re- 
fuse the  crown.  Theirs  is  the  realm  of  the  supernatural. 
Kascha  replies  to  the  summons  of  the  Bohemian  nobles: 

Amid  stars  I  roam, 

In  the  depths  I  reign; 

What  nature  creates 

Before  me  bows. 

The  lifeless  lives, 

The  life  of  the  living  is  death. 

I  shall  not  reign  over  corpses. 

To  others  offer  your  crown. 

What  have  I  in  common  with  you  ? 

Tetka's  answer  to  the  nobles  is : 

What  shall  be  is  one  and  only, 
What  may  be  is  manifold, 
But  I  shall  be  one  and  myself. 
Truth  to  glean  from  falsehood's  might. 
Establish  rights  without  the  right, 
Your  turn  to  serve  and  profit  win— 


LIBUSSA  353 

For  this  seek  ye  a  slave  of  sin! 

My  sunny  realm  a  purer  light  sends  down. 

Away  from  me,  away!    I  spurn  your  crown. 

Libussa,  however,  has  since  her  meeting  with  Primislaus 
learned  to  know  human  sentiment.  The  very  peasant 
dress  she  wears  brings  her  closer  to  the  people.  She  tells 
her  sisters : 

If  at  this  moment  of  myself  I  think. 

Of  how  within  the  stillness  of  your  home 

I  busied  me — I  scarce  can  tell  with  what — 

With  ways  to  reach  some  means,  to  some  intent, 

With  moon  and  stars  and  herbs,  with  letters,  numbers. 

It  all  seems  idle  play  and  purposeless. 

This  dress  of  coarser  texture  grits  the  skin, 

And  wakens  warmth  within  my  deepest  soul. 

With  human  beings  would  I  human  be. 

And  joyful  learn  to  know  their  destiny. 

With  quickened  pulse  their  common  lot  to  share. 

The  crown  they  offer  I  will  gladly  bear. 

She  admonishes  the  nobles  who  acclaim  her  as  queen  that 

she  will  rule  only  over  a  people  yielding  willing  obedience 

to  her  mild  sceptre,  and  she  reserves  to  herself  the  right 

to  return  to  her  sisters  if  no  longer  fully  trusted.    Kascha 

and  Tetka  foresee  her  fate : 
/^ 

She'll  rue  her  vow,  and  sooner  than  she  thinks. 

The  vulgar  herd  insists  on  higher  aids. 

But  what  it  touches  to  itself  degrades. 

Who  would  not  sink  to  paltry  human  ways. 

On  human  countenance  must  never  gaze. 

Libussa's  idyllic  reign  is  soon  disturbed  by  the  quarrels 
of  the  common  people.     The  primal  questions  of  right 


354    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

press  for  solution.    She  is  to  decide  a  dispute  between  two 
peasants  over  the  boundary  of  their  land : 

Of  all  the  words  known  to  the  tongue  of  man 
None  grates  upon  me  as  your  constant  "right/' 
Is  it  your  right  if  harvest  yields  your  soil  ? 
Have  you  a  right  to  live  and  to  draw  breath? 
I  everywhere  see  mercy  only,  blessings 
In  all  that  all  the  world  contains  for  all. 
Ye,  worthless  mites,  declaim  to  me  of  right? 
To  help  the  needy,  and  to  love  your  brother. 
Such  is  your  right,  nay,  such  your  duty  is. 
Right  is  a  dazzling  cloak  and  ornament, 
Concealing  all  the  wrong  done  on  this  earth. 
Your  eyes  show  plainly  which  of  you  deceives. 
But  if  I  tell  the  tale,  you  ask  for  proof. 
Ah,  right  and  proof  are  only  crutches  two. 
That  help  the  crooked  on  their  limping  way. 
Compound  your  quarrel!    Else  I  confiscate 
Your  land,  and  plant  with  thistles  it  and  thorns. 
And  mark  it  with  a  sign :  "Here  dwells  the  right." 

Libussa  finally  yields  to  the  importunate  demands  of 
the  nobles,  and  agrees  to  choose  a  husband.  She  will  be  the 
wife  of  him  who  can  solve  a  riddle  the  key  to  which  is  held 
only  by  Primislaus,  the  possessor  of  the  jewel  missing 
from  her  belt.  He  is  found  at  his  plough,  taking  his  simple 
meal,  and  musing  upon  the  uncertain  lot  of  one  aspiring 
to  the  hand  of  a  queen : 

The  prince  ennobles  her  who  is  his  wife. 

Not  so  the  queen,  who  but  degrades  the  husband 

As  man  whom  as  her  subject  she  exalts. 

Yet  the  thought  of  the  maiden  who  crossed  his  path  in 


LIBUSSA  355                 \ 

the  night,  and  vanished  as  suddenly  as  she  came,  continues  I 

to  haunt  him :  l 

I 

Let  no  one  say  that  hardest  is  the  deed.  ^ 

The  impulse  of  the  moment  helps  the  doer,  i 
The  hardest  task  is  to  resolve  to  do. 
To  tear  with  sudden  move  the  thousand  threads 

Which  accident  and  habit  spin  around  us;  I 

To  overstep  the  circle  of  dark  fate,  1 

And  masterful  map  out  our  path  alone —  | 

Against  this  does  our  very  soul  rebel;  | 

For  man  is  meant  to  cling  to  what  is  his,  I 

And  on  his  past  his  future  is  to  rise.  j 

She  thinks  of  me,  and  in  her  heart  retains  | 

My  image — nay,  no  image,  but  a  dream,  1 

A  nothing  merely,  like  to  thousand  shapes  | 

It  fits  as  well,  without  a  name  or  form;  t 

For  scarce  she  saw  me  in  the  woods  that  night  ] 
When  chance  together  brought  her  path  and  mine. 

All  this  awakes  in  me  confused  dreams,  ] 

Which  yet  are  bliss  to  me  and  prop  to  life,  \ 
And  which  I  cherish,  and  would  not  blot  out. 
Were  she  a  peasant  maiden,  not  Libussa, 

And  I  the  ploughman — which,  forsooth,  I  am —  , 

Before  her  would  I  step  and  say:  "Thou  maiden,  J 

I  am  the  same  whom  long  ago  thou  met'st ;  ''. 
Look  at  this  gem !    And  if  a  light  there  dawns 

In  thee,  as  ever  since  has  filled  my  breast,  j 

Then  take  and  give !''    Then  might  she  speak :  "My  man,  I 

There  'mid  my  servants  yonder  take  your  place.  ; 

What  you  relate  I  scarcely  can  recall."  ^ 

But,  my  true  self,  there  sit  thee  down  again,  I 

Take  cheese  and  bread  from  out  thy  ploughman's  pouch,  ^ 

And  at  this  table  rude  enjoy  thy  meal.  : 

'Tis  bread  that's  thine,  and  that  gives  life  and  strength,  ^ 

The  bread  bestowed  by  favor  ill  digests.  ^ 


366    GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  ] 

Libussa  sends  three  nobles  to  find  the  man  who  is  to  rule  ; 

over  Bohemia.     Primislaus's  horse  is  to  guide  them,  and  j 

they  are  led  by  it  to  the  hut  of  the  peasant.    Laden  with  1 
presents,  the  fruits  of  his  soil,  he  appears  before  Libussa, 
and  offers  them  to  her,  proudly  humble,  together  with  his 

sickle.  ^ 

A  paltry  gift. 

Such  as  the  lowly  offers  to  the  higher,  1 

Full  conscious  of  his  station — and  his  worth.  1 

Thus  from  my  home,  which  is  my  castle,  too,  j 

I  come  to  court,  and  as  I  kneel  before  thee,  '\ 

I  ask  thee,  princess,  what  is  thy  command?  J 

Libussa,  1 

It  seems  thou  speak'st  as  equal  to  thy  equal.  i 

Primislaus.  \ 

My  knee  before  thee  bends,  my  mind  as  well.  \ 

Libussa.  { 

But  what  if  both  did  not  obey  your  will  ?  ] 

Would  still  my  measure  reach  thy  mind  and  knee  ?  'l 
Arise  I 

Primislaus.  I 

1  shall,  if  first  thou  tak'st  my  gifts.  ] 

If  spurned  by  thee,  the  giver  thou  hast  spurned. 

Libussa.  I 

Let  them  be  taken  then !    I  love  these  flowers.  \ 

What  they  are  meant  to  mean  I  do  not  ask. 

(The  basket  is  placed  at  her  feet.) 

Your  shield  you  call  these  ?    Truth,  a  simple  'scutcheon ! 

But  what  device  may  thereon  be  inscribed?  I 

I  trow  'twere  proud,  though  modest  be  these  flowers.  1 

Primislaus  (who  has  risen).  S 

Not  lacking  is  my  shield  in  a  device,  ] 

But  humble  'tis,  as  are  the  flowers  I  bring. 


LIBTJSSA                                    357  | 

Thou  lov'st  in  riddles  to  express  thy  thought,  1 

And  so  dost  offer  thy  most  precious  gift,  i 

Thyself.    And  with  thy  leave  I  likewise  speak.  • 

{He  takes  up  the  basket  and  hands  it  to  her.)  l 

'Mid  these  flowers  lies  the  riddle,  ^ 

Its  solution  'mid  them  lies. 

Who  would  capture,  bears  the  fetters,  i 

He  who  bears  them  has  no  chain.  i 

Lihussa  (looking  at  the  flowers).  i 

Thus  speak  the  flowers  in  an  Eastern  tongue. 

Which  dream-like  tells  its  tale  with  silent  mouth.  ; 

And  roses  and  carnations,  luscious  fruit,  1 

Are  but  arranged  to  harbor  hidden  sense.  I 

An  ampler  leisure  makes  their  meaning  plain.  | 

(She  hands  the  basket  to  an  attendant.)  | 

The  mighty  only  deign  to  offer  riddles,  I 

Which  those  who  serve  obediently  shall  solve,  | 

'Mong  equals  confidences  are  in  place.  | 

Speak  plainly  thou:    Hast  thou  before  this  seen  me?  J 

Primislaus.  j 

Who  saw  thee  not,  crowned  by  thy  country's  choice?  | 

Lihussa.  J 

And  spake  I  ever  to  thee  ? 

Primislaus.  i 

As  to  all  I 

Who  to  thy  word  paid  homage  as  their  law.  l 

Lihussa.  J 

The  steed  I  sent  to  thee  without  a  guide  • 

Stood  still  within  the  precincts  of  thy  home.  ^ 

Was  thine  the  steed?  i 

Primislaus.  ] 

And  had  it  ever  been,  .'i 

When  once  I  gave  it,  'twas  no  longer  mine.  j 

Man  haltingly  steps  forward,  never  back.  i 

Lihussa.  \ 

Man,  ever  man !    I  see  the  coming  fate, 

My  sisters,  too,  have  read  it  in  the  stars. 


368     GRILLPAKZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Though  Wlasta  wields  her  arms  with  warrior's  skill, 

And  I  have  order  brought  into  this  land, 

We  are  but  women,  paltry  women  only! 

What  if  they  quarrel,  wrangle,  wine-inflamed. 

Brush  truth  aside  in  hasty  silliness. 

Their  grasping  eye  lured  by  the  distant  mist. 

Still  are  they  men  and  lords  that  rule  the  world! 

And  for  a  man  is  clamoring  this  people. 

The  people,  but  not  I;  the  land,  but  not  its  head. 

They  call  thee  shrewd,  and  shrewdness  is  adjudged 

Convenient  substitute  for  lacking  wisdom. 


A  judge  they  ask  for  who  is  to  decide,  1 

Not  what  is  good  and  fair,  and  wise  and  true,  I 


No,  only  what  is  right;  how  much  may  take  j 

Each  one,  how  much  refuse,  without  disgrace,  '\ 

Clear  of  the  name  of  rogue,  though  rogue  in  fact.  | 
For  service  such  as  this  you  seem  the  man. 

The  mutual  attraction  between  Libussa   and   Primis- 
laus  surmounts   the  barriers  opposed   by  mutual   pride.     I 
Primislaus  shrewdly  excites  her  jealousy  by  pretending  to 
make  love  to  Wlasta,  sent  by  Libussa  to  sound  his  real     \ 
feelings  toward  her.     Not  for  Wlasta,  but  for  Libussa —     j 
who,  as  Primislaus  is  well  aware,  witnesses  his  interview 
with  the  maid — is  intended  his   definition  of  woman^s 
sphere : 

A  mighty  thing  it  is,  to  reign  and  rule,  ^ 

And  man  throws  into  it  his  very  being;  : 

I  But  woman  is  so  lovely  in  her  texture  ■ 
That  what  she  adds  diminishes  her  worth. 

And  e'en  as  beauty,  decked  in  richest  hue,  j 

Adorned  in  purple  and  in  foreign  silks,  ] 
By  each  accoutrement  you  take  away. 

Becomes  more  beauteous  and  its  real  self,  \ 

Till,  full  revealed,  her  pristine  whiteness  shines^  j 


LIBUSSA  359 

And  in  the  trembling  knowledge  of  her  wealth 
Her  last  and  crowning  victory  is  won — 
So  woman,  beauty's  charm-endowered  child, 
Half  made  to  rule,  half  clinging  for  support, 
Her  fullest  flowering  attains  as  wife. 
Triumphant  weakness  her  supremest  strength; 
What  ne'er  she  asked  does  freely  she  receive. 
And  what  she  gives  is  held  divinest  gift — 
As  Heaven  holds  us  only  while  it  blesses. 

Primislaus  is  imprisoned  by  Libussa's  order.  When 
confronted  by  her,  he  voluntarily  surrenders  the  jewel  he 
has  held  so  long,  and,  renouncing  all  claims  to  her  grati- 
tude, asks  leave  to  withdraw  to  his  plough.  She,  however; 
tells  him  that  the  people,  believing  his  life  to  be  in  danger, 
are  clamoring  to  see  him,  and  to  hail  him  as  their  leader. 
As  such,  and  as  her  lawful  husband,  to  whom  she  bends 
her  knee,  she  presents  him  to  the  people. 

The  crowning  event  of  their  joint  reign,  the  founding 
of  Prague,  is  undertaken  only  after  serious  misgivings  on 
Libussa^s  part  as  to  the  wisdom  of  collecting  a  multitude 
within  town  walls  that 

Separate  mankind  from  nature's  breath. 
Make  them  incapable  of  growth  and  life. 
And  from  the  master  spirit  alienate. 

Primislaus's  practical  sense  convinces  her  that  the  fu- 
ture welfare  of  the  nation  demands  the  expansion  of  vil- 
lages into  towns,  and  he  silences  her  doubting : 
Do  you  believe  them  wiser  than  yourself? 

with  the  remark: 

I  know  not.    May  be  not.    And  yet,  Libussa, 
While  we  survey  the  whole  with  clearer  view. 


360    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA    \ 

They  singly  know  what  singly  better  is,  i 

And  their  advice  I  value  at  its  worth.  ! 

Primislaus  asks  Libussa  to  consecrate,  as  priestess,  thd 
altar  erected  on  the  spot  where  the  new  city  is  to  arise,  buti 
she  feels  the  waning  of  her  prophetic  power,  as  she  becomesj 
conscious  of  the  decline  of  her  physical  strength.  On  re-: 
suming  her  old  garb,  however,  her  inspired  previsioni 
returns,  and  with  a  blessing  for  the  people  and  their  f uture| 
capital  on  her  lips,  her  spirit  returns  to  its  celestial  abode.; 
Her  being  and  hence  her  happiness  were  not  of  this  earth,  i 

An  outline  of  the  drama  conveys  but  a  faint  suggestion; 
of  its  range  and  depth  of  thought.  Written  during  the^ 
years  1830  to  1847,  when  political  and  philosophic  specu-! 
lation  occupied  much  of  Grillparzer's  thought,  and  in-: 
tended  only  for  his  own  eye,  "I^ibussa^^contaijEsome  o^: 
his  most  significant  utterances  on  social  problems  and  th^j 
march  of  human  development.  Without  committing  him-i 
self  to  any  definite  historical  or  political  ideal,  he  shows! 
us  the  conflict  of  the  permanent  forces  at  work  in  human  I 
society.  The  well-meaning  dreamer  is  opposed  by  tho; 
practical  doer,  the  feminine  mind  and  heart  by  masculine  i 
sense  and  strength.  Libussa's  idyllic  reign  exemplifies  the  i 
visionary  ideas  of  Eousseau;  the  advent  of  Primislaus; 
marks  the  return  to  sober  reality.  But  over  and  above; 
the  varying  phases  of  human  endeavor,  beyond  the  clash  \ 
of  class  and  race  antagonism,  is  heard  the  voice  of  the  ; 
eternal  right  and  of  abstract  justice. 


XIX 


DIE  JUDIIT  YO:^  TOLEDOt 


Grillpaezer's  "Die  Jiidin  von  Toledo,"  an  adaptation 
of  Lope  de  Vega's  "Las  Paces  de  los  Reyes  j  Judia  de 
Toledo'^ — a  play  whose  plot  has  been  variously  utilized  in 
drama  and  fiction — depicts  with  vivid  realism  the  spell 
exercised  by  a  beautiful  wayward  Jewess  over  Alfonso 
VIII.  of  Castile.  The  masterly  exposition  of  the  drama 
reveals  the  singular  traits  of  Rahel,  her  designing 
coquetry,  destined  to  merge  into  consuming  passion,  her 
love  of  finery  and  frolic,  and  her  sudden  transition  from 
reckless  daring  to  abject  fear.  The  play  abounds  in 
sharply  contrasting  characters.  Beside  the  fascinating 
Jewess  we  have  her  sordid  father  Isaac,  her  wise  sister 
Esther,  the  noble-minded  but  weak  King  Alfonso,  and  his 
coldly  virtuous  English  queen  Eleanor.  The  first  scene  is 
in  the  royal  garden  at  Toledo. 

(Enter  Isaac,  Rahel,  and  Esther,) 
Isaac. 

Stay,  and  enter  not  the  garden! 

Know'st  thou  not  it  is  forbidden? 

When  the  king  here  takes  his  airing 

Not  a  Jew  may — God  will  punish! — 

Not  a  Jew  may  walk  around  here. 
Rahel  (sings). 

La,  la,  la,  la. 
Isaac. 

Post  thou  hear  me  ? 


I 

362    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  -] 

Rahel.                                        Yes,  I  listen.  ^ 

Isaac. 

And  thou  leav'st  not?  J 

Rahel  I 

When  I'm  ready!  \ 

Isaac,  l 

Oh,  oh,  oh  I    The  Lord  doth  try  me!  j 

Yet  the  poor  IVe  jmid  my  tribute,  \ 

I  have  prayed  and  I  have  fasted,  ] 

Tasted  not  of  what's  forbidden.  ; 
Oh,  and  yet  the  Lord  doth  try  me! 

Rahel  (to  Esther), 

Wherefore  tugg'st  thou  at  my  elbow?  \ 

Yet  I  linger  and  shall  leave  not.  \ 

Still  the  king  I  will  behold  once,  j 

And  the  court  and  all  its  splendor,  ] 

All  their  gold  and  all  their  jewels.  ] 

He  is  young  and  fair,  they  tell  me,  \ 

Good  to  look  at,  I  will  see  him.  i 

Isaac,  t 

And  if  caught  thou  by  his  minons?  \ 

Rahel,  i 

O,  my  soft  speech  shall  release  me.  ! 

Isaac,  j 

As  thy  mother  did  before  thee?  j 

She,  too,  looked  for  handsome  Christians,  1 

Hankered  after  Egypt's  flesh-pots.  ^^ 

Had  I  guarded  her  not  closely,  \ 
I  believe — may  God  forgive  me ! — 

That  thy  folly  were  bequeathed  thee,  j 

Were  bestowed  by  scornful  Christians.  } 

But  my  first  wife,  I  could  trust  her !  j 

(Addressing  Esther.) 
She,  thy  mother,  good  as  thou  art. 

Though  but  poor.    But  what  availed  me  I 

All  the  riches  of  the  second?  - 


DIE  JUDIN  VON  TOLEDO  363 

Was  she  lavish  not  in  si)ending,  i 

Keeping  open  house  and  table?  j 

Did  she  buy  not  gems  and  jewels?  j 

Look !     She  truly  is  her  daughter !  J 

Is  she  not  bedecked  with  jewels,  ? 

Not  adorned  with  handsome  dresses,  j 

Heathenish  the  whole  to  look  at  ?  | 

Rahel  (sings).  | 

Am  I  not  fair,  1 

Am  I  not  rich?  t 

They  are  chagrined,  i 

But  what  care  I?    La,  la,  la,  la.  I 

Isaac.  I 

There  she  struts  in  costly  shoes,  | 

Wears  them  out,  nor  thinks  about  it,  | 

Every  step  a  groat  and  more.  I 

In  her  ear  a  sparkling  jewel ;  | 

If  a  thief  comes,  he  will  snatch  it,  | 

If  she  drops  it,  who  will  find  it?  J 

Rahel  {taking  off  one  of  the  earrings).  | 

See,  I  loosen  it  and  hold  it,  | 

How  it  flashes,  how  it  glitters!  J 

Yet  I  value  it  so  little;  \ 
If  I  choose,  to  you  I  give  it.                              ^^^  ^^^^^^  ^ 

Or  I  throw  it  from  me.    Look! 

{She  makes  a  motion  with  her  hand  as  if  throwing  the  ring  ] 

away.)  j 

Isaac  {running  in  the  direction  it  would  take).  j 

Woe  is  me !    Where  did  it  fly  to  ?  I 

Woe  is  me !    How  can  I  find  it  ?  | 

(He  searches  in  the  hushes.)  1 

Esther.  I 

O  how  could  you?    Why,  the  jewel—  J 

Rahel.  j 

Do  you  think  me  then  so  foolish  j 
As  to  throw  away  a  jewel? 


364    GKILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Look,  I  hold  it  in  my  hand  here. 

In  my  ear  once  more  I  hang  it. 

Little  gem,  my  cheek  thou  suiteat. 
Isaac  (still  searching). 

Woe  is  me  I    'Tis  lost! 
Rahel. 

Here,  father. 

Come!  Recovered  is  the  jewel, 

I  was  jesting. 

Isaac. 

May  the  Lord  thee — ! 

What  a  jest  this!     Come  and  leave  now! 
Rahel. 

Ask  whate'er  you  please,  but  this  not. 

I  must  see  the  king,  wiU  see  him. 

And  he  me;  yes,  he  shall  see  me. 

When  he  comes,  and  when  he  wonders: 

"Who  is  she,  the  handsome  Jewess? 

What's  thy  name?"    "My  name  is  Rahel, 

Isaac's  Rahel,  lord,  I  am." 

And  the  king  my  cheeks  shall  pinch  then. 

Handsome  Rahel  they  will  call  me. 

Spite  of  all  their  raging  envy. 

Little  care  I  for  their  anger! 
Esther. 

Father! 
Isaac. 

Child! 
Esther. 

A  crowd  approaches. 
Isaac. 

Lord  of  hosts!    What  will  befall  me? 

'Tis  Rehoboam  and  his  cohorts. 

Leave  this  moment! 
Rahel. 

Listen,  father! 


DIE  JUDIN  VON  TOLEDO  365 


Isaac. 

Stay  then !    Esther,  hurry  with  me ! 
Let  the  fool  remain  alone  here, 
Let  the  unclean  come  and  seize  her. 
Kill  her!     She  herself  has  willed  it. 
Esther,  come! 

Rahel. 

O  father,  stay! 
Isaac. 

Have  your  will  then !    Esther,  come ! 


(He  leaves.) 


Rahel. 

I  will  not  alone  remain  here. 

Listen !    Stay !    They  go !    O  woe's  me ! 

Not  alone  I  stay  here!    Listen! 

O  they're  coming!     Sister!    Father! 

(She  hurries  after  them.) 

The  king  and  queen  appear  on  the  scene  with  their 
retinue.  Alfonso  has  prepared  a  surprise  for  Eleanor, 
but  she  is  cold  and  unappreciative. 

King. 

It  is  too  bad,  Manrique ! 
Our  honest  efforts  have  had  no  result. 
For  days  and  weeks  we  digged  and  delved,  and  hoped 
To  change  this  garden — which  now  merely  bears 
Our  orange  trees  and  grants  a  grateful  shade — 
Into  a  park  to  suit  the  English  taste. 
Such  as  Britannia  cultivates  and  loves,  • 

The  exacting  home  of  my  exacting  mistress. 
But  lo!  she  smiles,  and  silent  shakes  her  head. 
Thus  are  they  all,  Britannia's  children,  all; 
Their  customs,  every  inch,  they  full  demand. 
If  you  give  less,  they  smile  with  proud  disdain. 
It  was  at  least  well  meant,  Eleanor; 


366     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  \ 

And  therefore  grant  a  word  of  thanks  to  those  I 

Who  toiled  for  us,  God  knows  how  long  a  time.  ] 

Queen. 

I  thank  you,  gentlemen! 

The  king  is  informed  by  Don  Garceran,  son  of  Man-  | 

rique,  the  admiral  of  Castile,  that  the  people  are  every-  ] 

where  praying  for  victory  over  the  Moors :  | 

The  bells  resound  throughout  our  country's  limits. 

And  in  the  temple  gather  worshippers,  ; 

But  their  mistaken  zeal,  as  often  happens,  1 

Has  turned  against  those  of  a  strange  belief,  ] 

Who  ply  their  trade  and  traffic  through  the  land;  ] 

And  here  and  there  a  Jew  has  been  maltreated.  '] 

King.  \ 

And  you  have  suffered  it?    No,  by  the  Lord!  | 

Whoe'er  confides  in  me  shall  be  protected,  ^ 

Their  faith  is  theirs,  their  deeds  alone  concern  me.  I 

Garceran.  ^ 

They  are  considered  spies  in  Moorish  pay.  t 

King. 

No  one  betrays  what  unknown  is  to  him,  1 

Their  mammon  have  I  e'er  held  in  contempt,  \ 

And  scorned  to  seek  advice  at  Jewish  hands.  \ 
Nor  Jew,  nor  Christian  knows  my  secret  plans. 

And  therefore,  as  you  value  your  own  life —  i 

A  Female  Voice  (outside),  ] 

O,  woe  is  me!  ] 
King. 

What  means  this?  j 

Garceran.  \ 

There,  my  lord,  | 

An  old  man  flees,  a  Jew,  pursued  by  soldiers.  I 

Two  girls  beside  him.    One,  behold  I  flees  hither.  \ 

\ 
\ 


DIE  JUDII!^  VON  TOLEDO  367 

King. 

And  well  she  may,  for  here  protection  is. 
Woe  be  to  him  who  touches  but  her  hair! 

(Calling  loudly.) 
Here !    Hurry  here ! 

(Bahel,  fleeing,  appears.) 

Bahel. 

O  Lord,  they're  killing  me, 
And  kill  my  father !    Is  there  nowhere  help  ? 

(She  perceives  the  queen  and  kneels  hefore  her.) 

0  noble  lady,  grant  me  gracious  aid. 
Extend  thy  hand  protecting  o'er  thy  maid. 
Who  as  a  slave  will  serve  thee,  not  as  Jewess ! 

(8he  attempts  to  seize  the  hands  of  the  queen,  who  turns  from 
her.) 

Rahel  (rising). 

Here,  too,  not  safety;  anguish  everywhere. 

And  death !    O  whither  turn  I  ?    Lo !  a  man, 

Whose  eyes  cast  moon-like  rays  that  cheer  and  cool, 

Whose  air  and  bearing  speak  of  majesty. 

Thou  canst  protect  me,  lord,  oh,  and  thou  shalt! 

1  will  not  die,  I  will  not,  no,  no,  no ! 

(She  throws  herself  down  before  the  king,  and  clutches  his  right 

foot,  her  head  bowed  to  the  ground.) 
King  (to  the  attendants  who  approach  her). 

Leave  her !    Almost  bereft  of  sense  from  fright. 

Convulsive  shakes  her  frame  and  moves  my  own. 
Rahel   (standing  up). 

And  all  that  I  call  mine, 

(Taking  off  her  bracelet.) 
this  ornament, 

My  golden  necklace  and  this  precious  cloth, 
(Divesting  herself  of  a  kerchief  wound  shawl-like  round  her 

neck.) 

My  father  paid  for  it  full  forty  pounds — 


368    GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

'Tis  real  India  weave — this  cloth  is  yours. 
But  spare  my  life,  O  do  not  let  me  die ! 
(She  sinks  down  into  her  former  posture.    Isaac  and  Esther  are 
hrought  in.) 

King. 

What  has  he  done? 

Manrique. 

My  lord,  as  well  you  know. 
His  people  are  forbidden  by  the  law 
To  enter  royal  grounds  when  you  are  near. 

King. 

If  it  forbidden  be,  I  say  it  is  allowed. 
Esther. 

No  spy,  my  lord,  is  he,  a  tradesman  merely. 
The  letters  found  on  him  are  all  in  Hebrew, 
And  not  in  Arabic,  the  Moorish  tongue. 
King. 

She  speaks  the  truth,  I  know. 

(Pointing  to  Rahel.) 
And  this  one  here? 
Esther. 

She  is  my  sister. 
King. 

Take  her  then  and  go! 
Rahel  (to  Esther,  who  approaches  her). 

No,  no !    They'll  seize  me,  they  will  take  me  hence. 
And  kill  me! 

(Pointing  to  the  ornaments  she  has  discarded.) 
Here  the  ransom  lies  I  offer. 
Here  let  me  rest  and  snatch  a  moment's  sleep, 

(Pressing  her  cheek  against  the  king's  knee.) 
Here  safety  is,  and  sweet  it  is  to  rest. 
Queen. 

Will  you  not  hence? 
King, 

You  see,  I  am  a  prisoner. 


DIE  JUDm  VON  TOLEDO  369 

Queen. 

If  prisoner  you,  then  I  am  free  to  go. 

(She  leaves  with  her  attendants.) 
King. 

One  more  rebuff!    Their  primness  but  creates 
What  they  so  ardently  desire  to  banish. 

(To  Rahel,  in  a  severe  tone.) 
Again  I  tell  thee:  Rise! —    Give  her  her  kerchief, 
And  let  her  go. 
Rahel. 

My  lord,  grant  me  brief  respite — 
My  limbs  are  palsied  and  refuse  to  stir. 
(She  rests  her  elbow  on  her  knee  and  supports  her  head  with  her 
hand.) 

King  (stepping  bach). 

Is  always  she  so  timid? 
Esther. 

No,  my  lord ! 

A  while  ago  she  was  in  reckless  mood. 

And  pouted,  bent  on  seeing  you,  my  lord ! 
King. 

On  seeing  me?    She  dearly  paid  the  wish. 
Esther. 

And  when  at  home,  she  gayly  romps  and  frolics. 

And  plays  with  us,  with  man  and  beast  she  plays. 

And  laugh  we  must,  though  serious  be  our  mood. 
King. 

Would  then,  indeed,  she  were  a  Christian, 

And  at  the  court  here,  where  His  dull  enough! 

A  little  jesting  now  and  then  would  suit  us. 

Here,  Garceran! 
Oarceran. 

My  gracious  king! 
Esther  (occupied  with  Rahel). 

Arise! 


370    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Rahel  (rises  and  seizes  Esther's  necklace  and  lays  it  down  heside 

the  bracelet  and  her  chief). 

Add  thou  thy  own  possessions  to  my  ransom. 
Esther. 

So  be  it  then. 

King, 

What  think  you  of  it  all? 
Oarceran, 

I,  O  my  lord? 
King. 

Do  not  dissimulate, 

You  know  the  sex.    Myself  have  rarely  turned 

An  eager  eye  on  them.    But  she  seems  fair. 
Garceran. 

She  is,  my  lord! 
King. 

Then,  Garceran,  be  warned. 

For  you  shall  lead  her  hence,  and  into  safety. 
Rahel. 

Replace  my  bracelet!    O,  how  thou  dost  hurt! 

My  necklace,  too — but  that  is  'round  my  neck — 

The  kerchief  keep.    My  head  is  dazed  and  heavy. 
King. 

Take  home  the  girl! 
Oarceran. 

King. 

Oarceran. 

Excited  is  the  mob — 
King. 

Methinks  you're  right. 

Although  one  word  from  me  would  shield  the  girl, 

'Twere  better  to  avoid  all  provocation. 
Esther  {smoothing  RaheVs  attire  around  her  nech). 

And  how  awry  thy  dress  is  and  displaced! 


My  lord,  I  fear. 

Fear  what? 


^'*-— ^^-""^  DIE  JUDIN  VON  TOLEDO  371 

King. 

Let  her  at  first  be  taken  to  a  kiosk. 
The  garden  all  around  abounds  in  them, 
When  evening  conies — 
Garceran. 

At  your  command,  my  lord! 
King, 

What  would  you  know?    Ah,  well,  indeed,  I  see! 
Are  you  not  ready  yet? 
Esther. 

We  are,  my  lord! 
King. 

When  evening  comes,  and  scattered  is  the  crowd. 
Then  take  her  to  her  home,  and  'twill  be  well. 
Oarceran. 

Come,  then,  thou  heathen  fair ! 
King. 

Why  heathen,  man? 
Esther  (to  Rahel,  who  is  preparing  to  leave). 

And  thank'st  thou  not  for  all  the  mercy  shown? 
Rahel. 

My  lord,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  mighty  help. 

(Pointing  to  her  neck.) 
Could  but  this  neck,  surrendered  to  the  axe. 
This  breast  a  shield  against  thy  enemies — 
But  that  thou  ask'st  not — 
King. 

Faith !    A  handsome  shield ! 
Go  now,  and  God  be  with  thee !    Garceran, 

(In  a  lower  voice.) 
I  do  not  wish  that  she  whom  I  protect. 
By  bold  advances  or  malicious  sport 
Be  rudely  troubled. 
Bahel  (putting  her  hand  to  her  forehead). 

O,  I  cannot  walk! 


372    GlllLLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

King  (seeing  that  Garceran  offers  her  his  arm). 

Wherefore  your  arm?    Her  sister  guide  her  steps! 

And  thou,  old  man,  protect  thy  daughter  well. 

The  world  is  bad,  thy  treasure  needs  a  guardian. 

(Exeunt  Rahel,  her  father  and  sister,  with  Garceran.) 
King  (following  them  with  his  eyes). 

She  totters  still,  a  heaving  sea  of  fright 

Her  very  body,  in  recurring  waves. 

She  tightly  clasped  my  foot;  it  almost  pains. 

Queer  contrast!     Cowards  justly  are  despised, 

While  woman's  strength  in  weakness  strongest  is. 

What  think  you,  admiral,  of  what  has  passed? 

Manrique. 

My  lord,  the  punishment  you  have  imposed 
Upon  my  son  so  gently  is  severe. 

King. 

The  punishment? 

Manrique, 

In  making  him  the  guardian 
Of  such  as  they. 
King. 

He'll  bear  with  it,  my  friend. 

The  king,  disguised  in  his  cloak,  appears  at  the  kiosk 
before  Garceran's  departure  with  Kahel,  and  rallies  him 
on  his  behavior  tov^ard  women : 

Do  not  pretend  to  scorn  a  luscious  morsel  I 
I  wager  if  the  maid  in  yon  apartment 
Bestowed  on  you  one  glance,  you'd  be  aflame. 
I  do  not  love  her  race,  but  this  I  know, 
That  what  disfigures  them  is  of  our  doing. 
Struck  lame  by  us,  we  blame  them  if  they  limp. 
And,  Garceran,  this  tribe  of  restless  shepherds. 
That  flees  from  place  to  place,  has  something  great. 


DIE  JUDIN  VON  TOLEDO  37S                I 

We  all  are  of  to-day,  but  they  reach  back  I 

Far  to  creation's  early  dawn,  when  walked  ] 

Manlike  with  man  our  God  in  Paradise,  i 

When  angel  guests  appeared  to  patriarchs,  ■ 

And  justice  reigned,  as  given  by  the  Lord. 

Amid  a  world  of  fancy,  truth  is  found  j 

In  Cain  and  Abel,  in  Rebecca's  wisdom,  i 

In  Jacob,  who  wooed  Rachel  while  he  served — 

What  is  the  maiden's  name?  | 

Garceran.  j 

I  know  not,  sir.  ] 

King, 

No?    And  in  Ahasuerus,  he  whose  sceptre  j 

Touched  Esther,  who  became  his  wife,  a  Jewess,  i 

Protecting  angel  to  those  of  her  tribe.  1 

Thus  Christian  and  Mohammedan  trace  back 

Their  ancestry  to  this  race  as  the  first.  '\ 

They  doubtful  look  on  us,  not  we  on  them. 

And  if,  like  Esau,  they  have  lost  their  rights. 

We  daily  ten  times  crucify  our  Lord  i 

Through  evil  ways  and  downright  wickedness,  | 

While  they  but  once  were  guilty  of  the  crime.  1 

RaheFs  gajety  soon  returns  amid  her  new  surroundings.  \ 

Laughing,  dancing,  and  singing,  she  dons  the  fantastic  ] 

raiments,  relics  of  a  recent  masquerade,  which  she  has                 1 

found  in  one  of  the  cabinets  of  the  kiosk.     She  takes  the                  [ 

king's  portrait  from  its  frame  and  presses  it  to  her  bosom.  j 

She  tells  her  sister :  I 

I  like  the  picture.    Look,  'tis  beautiful.  | 

I'll  hang  it  in  my  room,  next  to  my  bed,  I 

And  morn  and  evening  I  shall  look  at  it,  ; 
And  think — whate'er  the  thoughts  that  come  and  go 

When  we  throw  off  the  burden  of  our  clothes,  i 

I 


374    GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA  J 

And  feel  ourselves  delivered  from  their  pressure.  | 

But  they  must  not  believe  I  stole  the  picture.  « 

— Am  I  not  rich,  and  wherefore  should  I  steal? —  j 

You  carry  'round  your  neck  my  likeness,  Esther,  \ 

That  we  shall  hang  in  place  of  this  one  here.  j 

He'll  gaze  at  it,  as  now  I  look  on  his,  ! 

And  think  of  me,  should  his  remembrance  fail.  ' 
Hand  me  yon  stool,  and  look!    I  am  the  queen, 
And  this  king  here  I  fasten  to  the  stool. 

They  say  that  witches,  who  can  love  compel,  j 

Drive  needles,  thus,  into  a  waxen  image ;  i 

Each  thrust  that  penetrates  into  the  heart  i 

Arrests  or  wakes  the  life  that  throbs  with  love.  i 
(She  fastens  the  four  corners  of  the  picture  with  needles  to  the 
hacJc  of  the  stool.) 

0  might  each  needle  thrust  draw  living  blood !  -| 

1  fain  would  drink  it  with  these  thirsty  lips,  \ 
Rejoicing  in  the  evil  I  created.  1 
But  there  it  hangs,  as  silent  as  'tis  fair.  ^i 
Yet  will  I  speak  to  him  as  does  a  queen,  i 
Dressed  in  the  cloak  and  crown  which  so  befit  me. 

(She  sits  down  on  the  stool  in  front  of  the  picture,) 

(j 

The  king  enters  the  kiosk  in  spite  of  Glarceran's  pro-  j 

test.    Rahel  starts  at  his  approach  and  remains  speechless,  j 

her  gaze  fixed  on  his  portrait.  \ 

King.  x 
Am  I  so  dreadful  then  an  apparition? 

(He  approaches  her.    Rahel  shaJces  her  head  violently.)  \ 

Take  courage  then,  and  fear  not,  my  dear  child.  I 

Yes,  once  more  do  I  say  that  thou  didst  please  me.  ] 

When  from  this  holj'  war  I  shall  return,  i 

To  which  my  honor  prompts  me  and  my  duty,  I 

Perhaps  about  thee  I  may  make  inquiry.  ' 

Where  is  thy  home?  1 


DIE  JUDIN  VOI^  TOLEDO  375 

Isaac  (rapidly). 

My  lord,  'tis  in  the  Ghetto, 

Ben  Mathaes'  house. 
Esther. 

Unless  they  drive  us  hence 

Before  that  time. 
King. 

My  word,  they  shall  not  do  it! 

I  shall  protect  whom  I  protection  grant. 

And  if  then  thou  art  still  so  talkative, 

And  full  of  frolic,  as  thou  wert  with  thine, 

Not  shy  as  now,  I'll  while  away  an  hour, 

And  from  the  court's  oppression  free,  draw  breath. 

But  now  be  gone,  for  it  is  highest  time. 

Go  with  her,  Garceran,  but  ere  you  go 

Restore  that  portrait  to  its  former  place. 
Rahel. 

Mine  is  the  portrait. 
King. 

Thine?    What  dost  thou  say? 

Restore  it  to  the  frame  whence  it  was  taken! 
Rahel  {to  Garceran). 

Touch  not  the  needles,  nor  this  portrait  touch! 

Else  I'll  transfix  it  with  a  deeper  thrust, 

(Aiming  a  needle  at  the  picture.) 

See  here !    Straight  through  the  heart ! 

^*"^-  Good  Heaven!  Stop! 

Thou  almost  frighten'st  me.    What  art  thou,  girl? 

Dost  practise  secret  arts  ?    And  maybe  crimes  ? 

I  seemed  to  feel  within  my  very  breast 

The  thrust  aimed  at  the  picture. 
Esther. 

Gracious  lord. 

Though  but  a  i)etted  and  a  wayward  child. 

Her  mind  knows  naught  of  arts  that  are  forbidden. 

Seized  by  a  sudden  whim,  she  did  the  deed. 


376     GKILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

King. 

But  reckless  is  the  game  that  thus  she  played. 
It  drove  the  blood  up  to  my  very  eyes, 
And  I  see  things  in  an  uncertain  light. 

(To  Oarceran.) 
Is  she  not  beautiful? 
Oarceran, 

She  is  indeed,  my  lord. 

The  queen  and  courtiers  approach  the  kiosk,  and  Al- 
fonso seeks  refuge  in  one  of  the  rooms.  Garceran  prevents 
his  father,  Manrique,  from  going  in  search  of  the  king; 
the  queen  retires,  wounded  to  the  quick.  Alfonso  reappears, 
conscious  of  his  humiliation,  and  determined  to  cleanse 
himself  from  guilt  in  the  blood  of  the  Moors.  Before 
leaving,  he  enters  the  room  which  Rahel  had  occupied,  to 
see  whether  his  portrait  has  been  restored  to  its  place.  He 
finds  it  gone  and  her  own  in  its  stead.  He  takes  the 
picture  down  and  hides  it  in  his  bosom.  As  he  leaves  the 
scene,  he  asks  an  attendant. 

Is  yonder  castle  not 

Retire,  where  my  ancestor,  Don  Sancho, 

Found  refuge  from  the  world,  with  his  fair  Mooress  ? 
Attendant. 

It  is,  my  gracious  lord. 
King. 

Our  ancestors 

We'll  imitate  in  valor  and  true  worth, 

And  not  wherein  they  weakly  fell  from  grace. 

The  highest  task  is  conquering  one's  self. 

Then  let  the  foreign  conqueror  be  met. 

The  charms  of  Rahel  hold  Alfonso  captive  at  Retire. 
Though  conscious  of  his  guilt,  he  lulls  himself  into  thQ 


DIE  JUDIX  VON  TOLEDO  377 

belief  that  he  can  at  any  time  burst  his  fetters.  The  news 
that  the  queen  has  left  Toledo,  and  that  she  and  the  nobles 
consider  him  as  one  dead  and  the  country  virtually  with- 
out a  ruler,  rouses  him  from  his  life  of  self-indulgence. 
He  returns  to  the  queen  and  asks  her  to  forgive  and  forget 
his  transgressions. 

It  were  not  well,  in  striking  out  anew. 

To  close  the  path  by  cumbering  barriers, 

Useless  reminders  of  our  former  self. 

I  here  absolve  myself  from  past  transgression. 

Your  purity  no  absolution  needs. 
Queen. 

O  speak  not  thus,  my  husband !    If  you  knew 

What  thoughts,  ill-boding,  born  of  dark  despair, 

Have  found  their  way  into  my  anguished  heart! 
King. 

Perhaps  e'en  vengeance?    Ah,  so  much  the  better; 

For  then  you  feel  forgiveness  is  your  duty. 

And  that  no  man  is  safe,  not  e'en  the  best. 

Not  ours  be  vengeance,  ours  not  punishment. 

For  she,  believe  me,  stands  absolved  from  guilt. 

As  guiltless  is  all  vain  and  vulgar  weakness. 

That  knows  resistance  not,  and  tamely  yields. 

Alone  I  bear,  myself  alone,  all  guilt. 
Queen. 

O  let  me  grasp  the  comfort  you  hold  out ! 

The  Moorish  tribe  and  all  such  kindred  folk 

Are  versed  in  secret  and  in  hellish  arts; 

With  image,  sign  and  word,  and  noxious  draught, 

Tbey  turn  the  heart  of  man  within  his  breast, 

And  make  his  will  submissive  to  their  own. 
King. 

Surrounded  are  we  all  by  magic  art. 

But  we  ourselves  hold  the  magician's  wand. 

A  single  thought  brings  near  what  lies  remote; 


378     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

What  now  we  spurn  may  later  tempt  the  eye,  j 

And  in  this  world  of  wonders  numberless 

We  are  ourselves  the  greatest  of  all  wonders.  \ 

Alfonso  learns  too  late  that  the  queen  and  the  nobles  .'i 

have  during  his  absence  determined  upon  Rahel's  death.  j 
He  hastens  to  the  castle  of  Retiro  to  avert  the  deed,  but 

arrives  after  it  has  been  consummated.     A  strange  scene,  | 
dramatically  as  well  as  ethically  startling,  terminates  the 

play.    The  king,  in  order  to  gather  strength  to  avenge  the  \ 
murder  of  Rahel,  decides  to  gaze  upon  her  body,  but  after 

viewing  it  he  retires  disillusioned.    Rahel  in  death  reveals  [ 

to  him  her  unworthiness  of  his  affection  while  living.  I 

An  evil  look  around  cheek,  chin,  and  mouth, 
A  leering  something  in  the  fiery  eye. 

Her  beauty  poisoned  and  her  charm  dispelled.  ] 

When  first  I  entered,  to  spur  on  my  wrath,  j 

Half  dreading  to  add  fuel  to  the  flame,  ^ 

It  happened  otherwise  than  I  had  thought.  j 

Instead  of  pictures  of  a  sensuous  past,  1 

My  wife,  and  child,  and  people,  stepped  before  me.  i 

Distorted  every  feature  stared  at  me,  1 

Her  arms  appeared  to  move,  and  reach  for  me.  \ 
Her  portrait  then  I  cast  into  her  tomb. 
And  here  I  am,  and  shudder,  as  you  see. 


XX 


EIN  BEUDEEZWIST  IN  HABSBURG 

"EiN  Bruderzwist  in  Habsburg"  (A  Brothers'  Feud  in 
the  House  of  Hapsburg)  unrolls  before  the  eyes  of  the 
spectator  the  dramatic  beginnings  of  the  Thirty  Years' 
War.  Historically  accurate,  the  play  is  in  an  autobio- 
graphic sense  the  most  significant  work  of  its  author.  He 
began  it  in  1825,  with  a  view  to  its  performance  in  the 
Burgtheater;  but  the  work  had  not  yet  proceeded  far 
toward  completion  when  the  ill-success  of  "Weh  dem,  der 
lugt,"  in  1838,  determined  Grillparzer  to  write  no  longer 
for  the  Vienna  stage.  Freed  from  the  restraints  with 
which  he  had  hitherto  been  compelled  to  reckon,  he  threw 
himself  into  his  labor  with  all  the  ardor  of  the  poet  whose 
creations  are  meant  to  reveal  the  inmost  thoughts  of  his 
soul.  This  national  play  contains,  in  Ehrhard's  words, 
"the  philosopher's  and  citizen's  last  testament."  "It  would 
seem  as  if  he  had  chosen  to  show  to  himself  all  that  he  was 
capable  of  doing,  and  that  he  revenged  himself  for  the 
disdain  of  the  multitude  by  depriving  it  of  new  beauties." 
In  depicting  his  hero,  Rudolph  II.,  Grillparzer  fol- 
lowed substantially  Ranke's  famous  description.  The 
misanthropical,  irresolute  emperor  has  withdrawn  from 
Vienna  into  the  castle  at  Prague,  where  he  abandons  him- 
self to  his  astrological  and  artistic  fancies.  The  city  is 
torn  by  religious  dissensions,  and  the  emperor  is  powerless 


380     GKILLPAKZER  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

to  deal  with  the  rebels.  His  army,  commanded  by  Count 
Mansfeld,  is  fighting  the  Turks  in  Hungary.  He  has 
abundant  reason  to  distrust  his  nearest  of  kin,  his  brother, 
Archduke  Matthias,  irresolute  like  himself,  yet  devoured 
by  vain  ambition.  Egged  on  by  the  able  and  unscrupu- 
lous priest,  Melchior  Klesel,  Matthias  first  dreams  of  an 
empire  for  himself,  and  when  foiled  in  his  plans  is  per- 
suaded by  Klesel  to  ask  the  emperor  for  the  chief  command 
in  Hungary.  At  this  stage  the  play  opens.  Matthias  finds 
that  it  is  not  an  easy  matter  to  obtain  admittance  to  the 
presence  of  his  brother,  who  is  guarded  by  the  all-powerful 
chamberlain.  Wolf  Rumpf .  What  Rumpf  insolently  denies 
to  the  emperor's  brother,  he  obsequiously  grants  to  Ru- 
dolph's favorite,  his  illegitimate  son,  Don  Csesar,  a 
licentious  youth,  without  filial  respect  or  fixed  principles, 
but  not  devoid  of  generous  impulses.  Don  Csesar  comes  to 
the  emperor  to  plead  for  the  life  of  his  friend.  Field- 
marshal  Russworm,  who  has  been  sentenced  to  death  for 
killing  some  one  in  a  duel.  In  a  few  vivid  strokes  these 
characters  are  placed  before  us. 

(Wolf  Rumpf  appears,  carrying  papers  under  his  arm,  heJiind 
him  another  chamberlain.  The  latter  points  to  Archduke 
Matthias.  Rumpf,  ignoring  the  sign,  proceeds  toward  the 
door.    When  about  to  enter,  Klesel  bars  his  path.) 

Klesel. 

Your  worship's  pardon!    May  his  archduke's  Highness 
Hope  for  an  audience  with  the  emperor? 

Rumpf. 

Impossible ! 

Klesel  (pointing  to  Matthias). 

Jlis  Highness  waits. 


EIN  BRUDERZWIST  IN  HABSBURG  381 

Rumpf. 

His  servant! 
Impossible!    His  Majesty's  unwell. 
Acta,  Negotia. 
Klesel. 

Only  a  minute. 

(^Whispers  to  Matthias.) 
Urge  him,  urge  him! 
Matthias. 

Herr  Eumpf ,  give  me  your  hand  I 
Rumpf. 

Too  great  an  honor !    But  it  cannot  be. 
The  sleep  disturbed — ^iistinctly  indisposed 
From  mal  di  testa.    I  should  risk  my  place 
If  I  permitted  it. 
Klesel. 

You  jest,  Herr  Rumpf. 
Too  well  is  known  your  power  at  this  court. 
Rumpf. 

So  seems  it,  but  his  Majesty  is  strict; 

The  nearer  him,  the  nearer  to  his  ire. 

But  yestereve  tremendous  was  his  wrath. 

"No  Philipp  Third  are  we,"  his  lordship  cried, 

"To  be  dictated  to  by  Privados." 

I  was  compelled  in  haste  to  seek  the  door. 

It  cannot  be.    Impossible!    No,  no! 

(lie  turns  away  from  them.    Don  Gcesar  rushes  in^ 
Bon  CcGsar. 

Where  is  the  emperor? 

Thou  numskull,  speak  I 
Can  I  see  him? 
Rumpf. 

A  most  devout  good-morning, 
Senor  Don  Caesar !    May  the  Lord  preserve  you ! 
Don  Ccesar. 

How  is  the  emperor  ? 


382     GRTLLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Rumpf. 

Well,  wondrous  well  I 
His  Majesty  grows  younger  with  each  day. 
Looks  barely  thirty.     Said  I  but  to-day: 
A  pity  His  you  show  yourself  so  rarely. 
The  women  most  deplore  this  deprivation. 
His  Majesty  then  laughed. 

Don  Ccesar. 

I  do  not  wonder, 
Had  I  been  present,  I  should,  too,  have  laughed. 
He  barely  thirty !    With  such  frame  and  legs ! 
But  can  I  see  him  ?    Speak ! 
Rumpf. 

Assuredly. 
A  moment's  patience  graciously  vouchsafe. 
His  Majesty  is — 

(He  whispers  into  his  ear,  pointing  to  Matthias.) 
Don  Ccesar. 

Ah !    So  be  it  then. 

Don  Caesar  leaves,  to  try  a  horse  which  the  emperor  had 
bought  for  him  in  the  morning.  Matthias  insists  on  see- 
ing Rudolph,  and  is  told  by  Eumpf  to  step  aside  and 
take  his  chance  when  the  emperor  passes  on  his  way  to 
mass.  Archduke  Ferdinand,  Rudolph's  nephew,  is  an- 
nounced. His  rigid  Catholicism,  which  abhors  compromise 
with  the  rebellious  Protestants,  is  brought  into  vivid  con- 
trast with  the  emperor's  humane  stirrings,  which,  how- 
ever, are  again  and  again  overmastered  by  his  autocratic 
pride.  Rudolph  appears  on  the  scene.  Two  men,  holding 
up  some  paintings,  kneel  in  his  path.  He  stops  before  one, 
looks  at  it,  and  points  with  his  cane  at  a  defect  in  the 
drawing.  He  shakes  his  head,  and  the  picture  is  removed. 
The  second  one  seems  to  please  him.     He  signifies  to 


EIN  BRUDERZWIST  IN  HABSBURG  383 

Kumpf  that  he  wishes  to  retain  it,  and  lifts  up  three  fin- 
gers of  his  right  hand. 

Rumpf. 

Two  thousand? 
Rudolph  (vehemently). 

Three. 

(He  goes  to  the  table,  on  which  lie  several  hooks,  and  picks  up 

one  of  them.) 
Rumpf. 

From  Spain. 
Rudolph  (in  gayer  mood). 

Lope  de  Vega  1 
Rumpf. 

Despatches  from  your  Majesty's  envoy 
At  Madrid. 
(Rudolph  contemptuously  thrusts  aside  the  letters  on  the  table 
and  settles  down  to  read  the  book.) 

Archduke  Ferdinand  has  come. 
(Rudolph  looks  up  for  a  moment,  listening,  and  then  resumes 
his  reading.) 
Don  Caesar  has  been  here. 

(Rudolph  again  looks  up.) 
And  will  be  back. 
Klesel  (to  Matthias). 

Take  courage !     Why,  you  tremble !     God  forbid ! 
(The  emperor  bursts  into  a  laugh  over  a  passage  in  the  book.) 
The  moment  is  propitious,  for  his  Majesty 
Seems  in  good  spirits.    Make  then  the  attempt! 

Rudolph  (while  reading). 

Divino  autor,  fenix  de  Espana! 

Matthias  (approaching  the  emperor). 

My  gracious  sovereign  and  emperor, 
Leaving  my  banishment  at  Linz,  I've  dared — 


384    GEILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Rudolph  (loohing  up). 

Sortija  del  olvido — ah,  ah,  ah! 
"Ring  of  f  orgetf  ukiess." — Would  I  might  own  it  I 
Matthias. 

To  crave  your  pardon, 

(He  kneels.) 
ready,  O  my  lord. 
My  rights,  all  those  that  justly  are  my  own. 
Though  coveted  by  others,  to  surrender. 
The  right  inherited  to  Austria's  lands. 
The  future  hope  to  mount  upon  the  throne. 
Mine  but  some  quiet  place  to  die  in! 
{He  puts  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  emperor's  chair.) 
Rudolph. 

Who  stirs  here  ?    Eumpf !    I  want  to  be  alone ! 
Alone ! 
Matthias. 

My  gracious  emperor  and  lord ! 

Rudolph  {lifting  his  cane  threateningly  toward  Rumpf). 

Alone ! 
Rumpf. 

I  said  so,  but  his  Highness  urged. 
Rudolph  (with  increasing  vehemence). 

Alone ! 
Rumpf  {to  Matthias). 

Go  hence,  my  gracious  lord! 
Klesel, 

Come,  come! 
Or  all  is  lost. 
Matthias. 

O  God! 
Rudolph  {to  himself). 

Alone,  alone! 
Matthias. 

O  take  me  to  my  tomb,  there  to  find  rest ! 


EIN  BRUDEKZWIST  IN  HABSBURG  385 

Rudolph  (in  a  hollow  voice). 

Alone ! 
Bumpf, 

What  can  be  done,  my  God ! 
{He  picks  up  the  hook  which  the  emperor  had  thrown  down,  and 
hands  it  to  him.) 

The  book! 
(Rudolph  refuses  it.) 
Reports  from  Hungary  have  come  to  us. 
Raab  is  relieved,  and  Papa  is  besieged. 
The  malcontents  apparently  intend — 

(In  a  livelier  tone.) 
A  merchant  has  announced  himself  from  Florence, 
He  deals  in  polished  gems  of  priceless  value. 
Rudolph. 
Show! 

Rumpf. 

But  the  prices  seem  exorbitant. 
Rudolph. 
Absurd ! 

Rumpf. 

Shall  I  then? — As  you  will. 
The  Spanish  Orator  Baltasar  Zuniga 
Desires  an  audience. 

(The  emperor  shakes  his  head.) 
Do  you  then  command 
That  the  reports  be  presently — 
(The  emperor  brings  his  cane  down  on  the  floor  in  disgust.) 

Good  God! 
(Enter  Don  Ccesar.) 
Rumpf. 

You  come  at  the  right  moment.    Try  and  see — 

Don  Ccesar. 

I  kiss  your  Majesty's  most  gracious  hand. 

(The  emperor  looks  at  him  angrily.) 


386     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

You  seem  ill-humored ;  speak,  howe'er,  I  must. 

A  life  is  in  the  balance — more  than  life. 

Courtmartialled  and  condemned  is  Hermann  Russworm, 

Your  Majesty's  most  true  and  faithful  servant. 

To  die  ignobly  for  a  homicide — 

A  deed  done  in  the  direst  self-defence. 

I  beg  of  you  this  sentence  to  annul. 

Which  nonsense  is  and  madness,  blasphemy. 

And  to  preserve  a  life  so  dear  to  you, 

A  friend  to  me  I  cannot  do  without, 

Whom  I  must  save  whatever  be  the  cost. 

(Rudolph   looks  at  Rumpf  questioningly.) 
Bumpf. 

The  matter  is  concerning  Hermann  Russworm, 
Who,  half  in  anger,  half  by  accident 
Struck  dead  the  colonel. 
(The  emperor  rummages  among  the  papers  on  the  tahle.) 
Perhaps  the  sentence? 
It  waits  your  signature  in  yonder  room. 
Shall  I  perhaps? —    I  hasten  to  submit  it. 

n        rt  {Exit.) 

Don  Ccesar. 

I  thank  your  Majesty  then  in  advance 

For  granting  pardon  to  so  good  a  man. 

Who  is  whatever  signifies  that  word. 

His  enemy  was  slave  to  priests  and  women, 

A  scoundrel  and  a  hypocrite.    If  Russworm 

Too  far  forgot  himself  while  fired  with  wrath. 

Remember  that  the  self- same  vehemence 

Won  you  in  Hungary  a  dozen  battles. 

{Rumpf  returns  with  a  sealed  package.) 

Rumpf. 

The  sentence. 

{He  hands  the  document  to  the  emperor,  who  refuses  it.) 

O  good  God !    Your  Majesty 

Perhaps  will  deign  most  graciously  to  say 

What  is  your  pleasure  in  so  grave  a  matter. 


J 
1 
\ 

EIN  BRUDERZWIST  IN  HABSBURG  387                  I 

i 

{The  emperor  takes  the  document,  reads  the  address,  and  hands 

it  hack  with  derisive  laughter.')  \ 

I  know  it  is  in  outward  form  addressed  I 

To  judge  and  counsel  of  your  town  of  Prague,  ] 

But  if  the  sentence  really  be  signed,  i 

As  I  should  presuppose —  j 
{The  emperor  heats  the  floor  with  his  cane  angrily.) 

Don  CcBsar.  i 

My  gracious  lord!  \ 

I  must  request  that  for  a  single  moment  ] 

You  bid  defiance  to  the  gloomy  mood  J 
Which  in  your  silence  fondly  you  indulge. 

Consider :  If  this  sentence,  duly  signed,  \ 

And  by  your  hand  attested,  reaches  Prague,  ^ 

My  friend  must  die.  ^ 

Rudolph.  1 

He  dies,  and  thou  with  him,  \ 

Darest  thou  to  speak  for  him  another  word.  \ 

Degenerate !    I  know  thy  ways  full  well,  , 

Thy  nightly  riots  with  thy  boon  companions,  J 

A  menace  to  my  peaceful  subjects'  daughters;  \ 

In  league  with  rebels,  thou,  and  Lutherans.  \ 

Don  Coesar.  ^ 
I  never  honored  rebels  with  my  friendship. 

And  as  to  faith,  that,  sir,  is  to  be  judged  1 

By  God  alone.  J 

Rudolph.  j 

By  God  and  thee,  thou  mean'st.  j 

Believe  in  what  thy  teachers  did  believe,  \ 

The  wiser  and  the  better  let  decide,  j 

Then  later  do  thy  thinking. — Russworm  dies!  I 

And  thank  thy  God  and  my  own  leniency  1 

That  equally  my  sword  strikes  not  the  rest  \ 

Who  helped  thee  on,  who  knew  of  thy  intent,  ] 

And  with  approval  spoke  of  the  foul  deed,  1 
The  dastard  murder  of  Belgiojoso. 


388     GRILLPARZEE  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA  ! 

Relinquish  her,  the  maiden  that  thou  seekest  I 

In  impure  lust  I  \ 

Don  CcBsar, 

No,  sir;  for  she  deceived  me.  1 

Rudolph.  i 

Think'st  thou?     Since  first  the  stars  revolved,  | 

Has  woman  been  deceived  by  man. 

Don  Ccesar. 

Such  was  the  case  j 

At  least  with  one  quite  near  to  me  in  blood.  I 

Rudolph.  \ 

Near  thee?    Thou  know'st  then  where  thou  earnest  from?  | 

And  know'st  him,  too,  to  whom  thou  ow'st  thy  life  ?  | 

Say  yes!    Say  yes,  and  an  eternal  prison,  j 

Where  penetrates  no  ray  of  heavenly  light —  \ 

Thus  is  it  written  in  the  stars  above :  \ 

The  nearer  me,  the  bitterer  the  foe.  j 

And  there  he  stands,  and  laughs  in  scornful  spite,  1 

As  Satan  laughed  before  the  son  of  man.  | 

Away  this  laugh,  away!     And  take  his  arms!  1 
Seize  him,  a  prisoner ! —  You  hesitate  ? 

I  shall  myself  then,  with  this  hand  of  mine —      <  j 

{To  one  of  the  hody guard.)  \ 

Lend  me  thy  partisan,  old  friend,  that  I —  ] 

(While  dropping  his  cane,  in  order  to  take  hold  of  the  partisan,  j 

he  totters  and  is  about  to  fall.    Bystanders  hurry  to  the  spot,  I 

and  support  him.)  \ 

Dare  you  lay  hands  on  me?    You  rebels,  you!  I 
Yo  soy  el  emperador !    I  the  emperor ! 

Am  I  betrayed  within  my  castle  walls?  j 

Is  there  no  help,  is  no  protector  nigh?  1 

{Archduke  Ferdinand  appears  on  the  scene.)  \ 

Ferdinand.  \ 

Blessed  be  this  house!    How  now,  your  Majesty?  j 
What  is  the  cause  of  this  alarm?    Who  speaks? 


EIN  BRUDERZWIST  IN  HABSBURG          389  \ 

Don  Ccesar  (to  Rumpf,  who  is  endeavoring  to  calm  him).  I 

I  little  care,  though  thousand  devils  spite  me !  \ 

Ferdinand  (to  Don  Ccesar,  with  his  hand  lightly  resting  on  his  ; 

sword).  I 

Go,  young  man,  go !    Else  you  may  learn  too  late  I 

Near  is  the  evil  one  if  called  by  us.  I 

Avaunt,  you  all,  avaunt !  ] 

(Those  present  retire  toward  the  hacTcground,  Don  Ccesar  among  f 

them,  who  is  accompanied  hy  Rumpf.)  \ 

My  gracious  lord!        '  \ 

Rudolph.  \ 

Who  are  you  ?    Who  ?    How  dare  you  ?  ^ 

Ferdinand.  j 

I  am  your  nephew,  and  your  servant,  sir,  j 

Fernand  of  Graz,  obedient  to  your  call.  I 

Rudolph  (shrinking  from  his  touch). 

Es  bien,  es  bien !    'Tis  well,    I  bid  you  welcome.  I 

Ferdinand.  i 

Will  you  not  seated  be,  my  lord  ?    Your  wrath  j 

Consumes  your  strength  and  hurts  your  noble  self.  ^ 

(He  leads  the  emperor  to  his  arm-chair.)  | 

Rudolph  (seated).  1 

Thus,  see  you,  is  it  ordered  in  my  castle.  ^ 

Thus  penetrates  the  modern,  wild-eyed  age,  i 

Past  hundred  guards,  into  my  presence  here,  \ 

And  fronts  me  with  its  frightful  countenance.  i 

This  age,  this  age!    For  frenzied  though  he  be,  1 

That  youth  is  but  disciple  of  his  age,  I 
Practising  only  what  his  master  taught. 

Look  'round  you  in  whatever  land  you  may,  j 

Where  is  respect  for  ancient  law  and  custom,  j 

For  lofty  science  and  for  art  sublime  ?  | 

Have  not  the  people  left  their  God  and  temple,  1 

And  built  a  calf  upon  the  mount  of  Dan,  3 

Which  kneeling  they  adore,  their  own  hands'  work?  \ 


390     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

They  call  it  "purifying  faith."    God  knows 
Faith  purifies  itself  if  clean  the  heart. 
No,  selfishness  it  is  and  self-conceit, 
Which  values  nothing  made  by  other  hands. 
Therefore  I  blame  yon  boy  and  punish  him, 
Whom,  if  he  pause  not,  fate  shall  overtake, 
Though  well  I  know  the  source  of  all  his  vice. 
I  sometimes  feel  within  me  a  grim  joy 
In  wrangling  with  him,  seeking  in  his  breast 
For  all  the  germs  of  his  perversities. 
Implanted  by  a  wild  and  evil  world. 
I  cannot  tame  his  age,  but  him  I  can, 
Him  shall  I  tame,  with  the  Almighty's  aid. 

Ferdinand. 

You  shall,  my  lord,  and  you  would  tame  the  age 
Were  firm  your  will  for  this  as  'tis  for  that. 

Rudolph. 

My  uncle,  Charles  the  Fifth,  could  not  do  this. 
And  Saint  Just  saw  him  a  repentant  monk. 
Weak  am  I,  and  a  man  of  modest  parts. 
Wherein  he  failed,  I  never  can  succeed. 

Ferdinand. 

0,  why  distrust  your  noble,  gifted  self? 

Firm  be  your  purpose,  and  the  Lord's  support. 
Like  prayer  answered,  will  descend  on  you. 
The  age  needs  a  physician,  you  can  cure  it. 
Rudolph. 

A  fine  physician  who  needs  ciire  himself! 

1,  all  alone  I 

Ferdinand. 

Alone,  my  lord,  you  say? 

Forgive  the  pupil  who  reproves  his  teacher. 

Around  you  throngs  one-half  of  all  the  world 

That  still  has  faith  in  God  and  in  his  image, 

The  sovereign  on  his  father's  rightful  throne. 

For  you  is  Spain,  the  Pope,  and  Italy, 

Your  crownland's  undiminished  strength  is  yours^ 


EIN  BRUDERZWIST  IN  HABSBURG          391  i 

As  yet  untouched  by  false  religious  teaching.  j 
Count  but  your  numbers;  tenfold,  hundredfold, 

Outweigh  they  your  opponents,  weak  in  number,  J 

Who  seem  but  strong  by  restless  show  of  strength.  j 

Rudolph.  1 

The  arms  are  many,  but  where  is  the  head?  j 

Ferdinand. 

In  you,  whom  equals  none  in  heart  and  mind. 

And  with  you  Austria's  noble  princes  are, 

Whom  God  himself  created  as  your  helpers.  j 

Rudolph.  '{ 
You  mean  yourseK? 

Ferdinand.  \ 

Mine  be  no  future  bliss  :\ 

If  ever  I  had  other  thought  and  aim  ] 

Than  Austria's  welfare  and  our  Saviour's  glory!  t 

Nor  is  it  I,  but  those  of  nearer  kin,  I 

Your  brothers,  noble  Max  and  Albrecht  wise,  ; 
And  he  the  third — the  first,  whom  even  now 

In  yonder  antechamber  sorrowful —  J 

Rudolph  (turning  away).  i 

Es  bien !  l 

Ferdinand. 

You  see,  the  old  distrust  once  more  | 

Descends,  a  heavy  mist,  upon  your  brow.  I 

O  woe  is  us,  if  true  what  people  say,  1 

That  one  of  those  who  darkly  scan  the  stars,  j 

Who  gather  at  your  court  from  near  and  far —  I 

Astrologers,  who  deal  in  dire  prediction —  j 

Has  from  your  noble  house  estranged  your  mind,  \ 

Through  threat  of  danger  from  your  nearest  kin!  1 

If  so,  woe's  us,  woe  if  for  a  mere  semblance  j 

You  give  up  truth,  your  people's  happiness.  ] 

Rudolph  (starting  up  in  anger).  i 

For  semblance?    Semblance?    Knowest  thou  the  art —  j 

If  art  it  be — which  thou  hast  thus  reviled?  1 


392     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Think'st  thou  there  is  a  single  grain  of  sand 

Which  is  not  linked  to  the  eternal  chain 

Of  active  forces,  causes  and  results? 

Are  Heaven's  stars  above  mere  paltry  candles, 

That  show  at  night  the  way  to  drunken  beggars? 

My  faith  in  God  rests,  and  not  in  the  stars, 

But  yet  those  stars  come  from  the  hand  of  God, 

The  first  of  all  His  works,  repositories 

Of  His  design  ere  was  the  world  created, 

When  He  alone  and  they  reigned  over  chaos. 

And  had  the  Lord  not  later  added  man. 

The  creature  of  His  will,  there  were  no  witness 

Of  what  He  wrought  save  those  bright  messengers. 

Man  has  renounced  Him,  they  are  ever  faithful. 

As  follow  gentle  sheep  when  calls  the  shepherd. 

So  are  obedient  to  the  Lord  the  stars, 

To-day  as  when  He  first  created  dawn. 

And  therefore  truth  is  in  them,  as  in  stones. 

In  plants,  and  beasts  and  trees,  in  all  but  man. 

0  might  we  be  as  silent  as  are  they. 
Intent  on  learning,  mastering  our  will. 
And  humbly  listening  with  an  open  ear, 
Then  might  we  hear  mayhap  a  word  of  truth. 
Fresh  from  His  lips,  and  ringing  through  the  world ! 
But  ask'st  thou  whether  I  have  heard  myself 
Truth's  voice  sublime,  as  spoken  in  what  lives, 

1  tell  thee :  No,  and  once  more  say  I :  No. 
I  am  but  weak,  a  man  devoid  of  parts, 
Closed  is  to  me  the  secret  heart  of  things. 
But  I  have  honest  zeal,  and  I  respect 
What  others  do,  though  powerless  myself. 
And  if,  while  but  a  pupil,  not  a  master, 

I  love  to  dwell  on  yonder  starlight  heights — 

Know'st  thou,  young  man,  what  order  means  and  law? 

Up  there  reigns  order,  there  is  her  abode ; 

Here  is  confusion,  arbitrary  chance. 

JiCt  m?  be  guardifin  in  the  tpwer  ^t  night. 


EIN  BRUDEEZWIST  IN  HABSBURG  393  j 

And  watch  the  coming  of  my  bright  clear  stars,  1 

Behold  the  knowing  twinkle  of  their  eyes,  I 

As  they  surround  the  throne  of  the  Almighty.  5 

(His  voice  hecomes  gradually  feebler,)  } 

And  when  the  Lord  shall  move  the  hands  of  time,  "\ 

Eternity  in  each  stroke  of  the  bell. 

Eternal  all  above  and  all  below,  \ 

The  bridal  chamber — seeks  the  universe — 

With  hurried  step — the  constellations  gleam —  | 

While  envious  spirits — evil  omens —  \ 

{His  voice  dies  out.    His  head  sinlcs  upon  his  hreast.    A  pause,  I 

Archduke  Ferdinand  approaches  him  anxiously.)  | 

Rudolph  (starts  up).  i 

Who^s  here?    Ah,  yes,  yes!    What  is  your  desire?  I 

About  Matthias  you  were  speaking.    Ah !  J 

You've  hatched  a  plan,  I  see.    What  is  its  purport?  j 

Why  left  he  Linz,  his  place  of  banishment?  i 

Ferdinand.  ^ 

And  if  it  were  the  mere  desire  for  work? 
Rudolph.  I 

For  work?    Is  he  not  actively  engaged? 

He  rides  a  horse,  and  runs  and  wields  the  foils.  | 

Not  love  of  work  inherits  he,  nor  I. 

But  I'm  aware  of  it,  and  he  is  not. 

What  else  desires  he?    Let  me  show  at  least 

That  not  the  threatening  planets,  but  your  schemes. 

The  secret  plotting  of  those  near  of  kin. 

Made  me  distrustful,  and  still  keep  me  so. 

'Tis  true,  it  might  seem  wise  to  interpose 

A  wholesome  distance  betwixt  him  and  me. 

Though  you  do  counsel  it.    What  is  his  wish? 
Ferdinand. 

He  covets. 

Rudolph. 

WeU? 

Ferdinand. 

In  Hungary  a  command. 


39^    GRILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTKIAN  DRAMA  \ 

I 

Rudolph.  1 

Has  ever  won  a  victory  he,  and  where?  t 

True,  Mansfeld's  there,  a  trusty  soldier  he,  "\ 

Who  will  begrudge  him  not  the  idle  honor.  i 

He'll  work,  Matthias  will  command.    Let  him  then  go !  I 

But  tell  him  to  restrain  his  energy,  j 

And  to  the  general's  riper  mind  defer.  \ 

There  are  too  many  soldiers,  aye,  and  leaders,  \ 

Who  owe  allegiance  to  the  new-born  faith.  '\ 
'Tis  not  the  time,  nor  is  the  camp  the  place 

To  wage  a  contest  for  religious  truth.  \ 

What  is't?    Why  leave  you?  \ 

Ferdinand.  ' 

So  as  not  to  hear 

How  Austria's  ruler,  Germany's  anointed,  " 
Speaks  for  apostates  from  our  holy  faith. 

Rudolph. 

I  speak  for  them?    You  are  inclined  to  jest.  ; 
But  who  may  dare  in  troubled  times  like  these 

To  cut  the  tangled  knot,  confusion's  work,  j 

With  one  bold  stroke?  i 

Ferdinand.  \ 

•i 

Who  dares?    I  do.  \ 

Rudolph.  I 

'Tis  lightly  said.  I 

Ferdinand.  \ 

Said  only?    It  is  done. 

In  Styria,  Carinthia,  Carniola,  3 

At  least,  the  germ  of  heresy  is  crushed.  i 

By  order  from  their  prince,  a  single  day  j 

Saw  the  conversion  of  full  sixty  thousand,  '\ 

And  twenty  thousand  more  have  taken  flight.  ■ 

Rudolph.  j 

And  this  without  my  sanction?  i 

Ferdinand.  1 

Sir,  I  wrote 

Repeatedly,  in  urgent  words,  but  vainly.  \ 


EIN  BRUDEEZWIST  IX  HABSBURG  395 

Rudolph  (rummaging  among  the  papers  on  the  tahle). 

There  is  confusion  oft  among  my  papers. 
Ferdinand. 

And  therefore  I  took  counsel  in  the  deed. 

My  lands  are  purified,  would  yours  were  tool 
Rudolph. 

And  twenty  thousand  had  to  take  to  flight? 

With  wives  and  children  ?    And  in  wintry  nights  ? 
Ferdinand. 

Through  pain  and  hardship,  sir,  doth  teach  the  Lord. 
Rudolph. 

This  at  the  very  moment  when  thou  woo'st 

A  Saxon  princess,  Protestant  herself? 
Ferdi7iand. 

God  gives  me  strength  to  conquer  my  affection. 

If  you  permit,  I  shall  renounce  my  suit. 

And  woo  the  daughter  of  Bavarians  duke. 
Rudolph. 

She  is  not  fair. 
Ferdinand. 

Her  heart  is,  in  God's  sight. 
Rudolph  (maJcing  a  gesture  denoting  that  she  is  deformed). 

Almost — 
Ferdinand. 

Straight  is  her  thought,  her  faith,  her  ways. 
Rudolph. 

Faith,  I  admire  thee ! — Man,  stretch  out  thy  hands ! 

Is't  flesh  thou  showest  ?    Real,  living  flesh  ? 

And  is  it  blood  that  courses  in  these  veins? 

To  woo  another  than  he  loves  and  wants! 

With  wife  and  child,  full  twenty  thousand  men. 

In  wintry  nights,  in  hunger,  misery! 

A  shudder  numbs  me.     Give  me  human  beings! 

Are  living  men  here?    Let  them  come,  O  come! 
(He  strikes  the  floor  vehemently  with  his  cane.    The  courtiers 

return.) 


396     GEILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Rudolph. 

My  childhood's  days  once  more  come  back  to  me. 
With  shuddering  belief  in  ghostly  things. 

Kudolph  bestows  upon  Matthias  the  chief  command  of 
the  army  in  Hungary.  Although  fully  aware  of  his 
brother's  lack  of  ability,  he  trusts  that  Mansf eld's  coun- 
sel will  prevail  over  Matthias's  blundering  strategy.  The 
archduke,  discarding  Mansfeld's  advice,  is  disastrously 
beaten.  Though  anxious  to  continue  the  war,  he  is  in- 
duced by  Klesel  to  conclude  peace.  Having  won  Protes- 
tant support  in  spite  of  his  secret  hostility  to  the  here- 
tics, he  openly  revolts  against  Kudolph,  and  succeeds  in 
occupying  Prague,  which  had  repulsed  the  imperial 
troops.  But  once  having  gained  the  object  of  his  ambi- 
tion, he  displays  all  the  irresoluteness  of  his  brother. 
Without  Klesel,  now  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  Ferdinand 
of  Styria,  he  is  as  a  broken  reed. 

Opposed  to  the  gloomy  figure  of  Matthias  is  Maximil- 
ian, his  jovial  younger  brother.  After  a  vain  attempt  to 
become  king  of  Poland,  Maximilian  has  settled  down  to 
the  quiet  enjoyment  of  the  pleasures  of  life,  and  particu- 
larly those  of  the  table.  Epicure  as  he  is,  he  is  endowed 
with  a  kind  heart  and  a  clearer  political  vision  than  that 
possessed  by  either  Kudolph  or  Matthias,  and  he  gives 
ample  evidence  of  his  sagacity  at  the  secret  council  of 
archdukes,  which  meets  at  Pressburg  to  avert  threatening 
disaster  to  the  state.  Besides  Maximilian  and  Matthias, 
the  conference  is  attended  by  Ferdinand  and  Leopold,  the 
emperor's  nephews,  the  latter  a  lively,  generous  youth, 
thoroughly  loyal  to  his  uncle.  Maximilian  distrusts  the 
scheming  Klesel,  who  attends  the  conference  as  the  spokes- 


EIN  BEUDERZWIST  IN  HABSBURG  397 

man  of  Matthias,  and  whose  advice  to  conclude  peace 
with  the  Turks  prevails  over  the  vague  and  contradictory 
opinions  of  the  archdukes.  Matthias's  characterization  of 
the  irresoluteness  of  the  imperial  family, 

Such  is  the  curse  of  Hapsburg's  noble  house: 
Half  way  to  halt,  and  doubtfully  to  aim 
At  half  a  deed,  with  half  considered  means, 

has  become  famous.  The  entire  scene  abounds,  as  do  so 
many  others  in  the  play,  in  delicate  delineations  of  char- 
acter revealing  the  author's  extraordinary  insight  into  the 
workings  of  the  Hapsburg  mind.  A  distinguished  Vienna 
critic  justly  remarks: 

"Grillparzer  created  no  character  which,  as  regards 
convincing  truth  and  absolute  lifelikeness,  can  be  com- 
pared with  the  emperor  Kudolph  II.  The  poet  himself 
speaks  through  the  emperor,  and  yet  the  character  is, 
totally  different  from  his  own  and  wholly  objective.  The 
emperor  is  an  unmistakable  Hapsburg;  not  a  trait  of  his 
but  betrays  his  dynasty.  Grillparzer  knows  the  Haps- 
burgs,  to  the  very  inmost  thoughts  of  their  hearts,  and 
speaks  as  if  he  had  lived  for  centuries  in  the  imperial 
castle  of  Vienna.  With  what  intimate  knowledge  did  he 
depict  Eudolph  I.,  and  with  how  much  greater  knowledge 
still  does  he  portray  Kudolph  II. !" 

Viewed  merely  as  a  drama,  aside  from  its  historical  and 
psychological  significance,  it  must  be  admitted  that  "Ein 
Bruderzwist''  lacks  what  all  the  other  plays  of  Grillparzer 
possess  in  so  preeminent  a  degi*ee — a  fascinating  heroine. 
Lucretia,  the  only  female  character,  is  a  shadowy  figure, 
not  outlined  with  sufficient  clearness  to  become  really  sym- 


398     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

pathetic.  The  daughter  of  a  respectable  citizen  of  Prague, 
she  is  courted  or  rather  pursued  by  Don  Csesar,  who  sus- 
pects her  of  being  unfaithful  to  him,  and  finally  kills  her 
in  a  fit  of  passion.  The  tragic  end  of  the  love  affair — such 
as  it  is — furnishes,  however,  the  occasion  for  one  of  the 
most  powerful  scenes  created  by  Grillparzer.  Don  Caesar 
has  been  taken  to  prison  after  the  murder  of  Lucretia.  The 
physicians  have  bled  him  in  order  to  quiet  his  fury;  but 
the  madman  tears  the  bandage  from  the  wound,  and  his 
blood  is  ebbing  away.  No  one  can  enter  his  apartment, 
which  is  locked,  without  the  key  which  is  held  by  Duke 
Julius  of  Brunswick,  Eudolph's  Protestant  friend.  Terror- 
stricken,  the  servant  rushes  in  and  asks  for  the  key. 
The  duke  is  on  the  point  of  handing  it  to  the  servant 
when  the  emperor  takes  it  from  him,  and  throws  it 
into  a  well.  Duke  Julius  had  pleaded  to  grant  Don 
Csesar  a  just  trial;  but  Rudolph  exclaims,  with  unshaken 
voice : 

He  has  been  judged  by  me,  his  emperor,  his — 

Here  his  strength  fails  him,  and  he  adds  in  a  voice 
choked  with  tears : 

His — master  1 

The  pathos  of  Rudolph's  death  scene  and  the  poesy  of 
his  last  words  cast  a  halo  over  the  inconsistencies  of  the 
singular  character  depicted  with  such  power.  Rudolph 
gazes  upon  the  ungrateful  city  of  Prague,  spread  out 
below  him  in  all  its  beauty,  and  predicts  for  it  an  evil  fu- 
ture, as  he  foresees  all  the  horrors  of  internecine  war. 


EIN  BRUDERZWIST  I^s"  HABSBURG  399 

The  archdukes  Maximilian  and  Ferdinand  kneel  before 
him,  and  receive  his  solemn  admonition : 

Fernand,  thou  think'st  thee  strong,  and  justly  so, 
Most  when  thou  mean'st  to  battle  for  thy  God. 
Be  strong  in  other  ways,  be  strong,  not  harsh. 
What  most  thou  prizest,  thy  own  firm  conviction. 
Respect  it,  too,  in  others.    'Tis  of  God, 
And  He  Himself  shall  wisdom  teach  the  erring. 

He  hears  heavenly  music  and  asks  to  be  taken  to  the 
open  window,  that  he  may  look  once  more  upon  the  city 
formerly  so  dear  to  him. 

Not  emperor  am  I  now,  but  simply  one 
Who  thirsts  to  feast  his  eye  on  men's  concerns. 
How  fair  it  all  is !    There  below  the  town, 
With  streets,  and  squares,  and  full  of  busy  men. 

Duhe  Julius. 

And  yet  a  while  ago  your  anger  cursed  it. 

Rudolph. 

Did  I?    O,  I  repent  me^    With  each  breath 

I  suck  within  me  back  each  hasty  word. 

Content  to  bear  alone  the  woes  of  all. 

And  thus  I  bless  thee  now,  thou  wayward  city. 

Where  thou  hast  sinned,  may  blossom  forth  the  good  I 

My  spirit  wanders  back  to  youthful  days. 

When  first  I  sailed  from  Spain,  where  I  was  taught, 

Some  one  called  out  that  on  the  dim  horizon 

The  German  coast  loomed  faint.    I  ran  on  deck. 

With  arms  outspread,  and  called:  My  home,  my  home  I 

So  now  there  seems  from  out  eternity 

A  land  to  rise,  where  I  shall  meet  a  Father. 

Is  it  dark  here?     There  yonder  it  is  light, 

And  'round  me  are  these  wings  I  feel  and  hear  ? 


400    GKILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

From  Spain  I  come,  where  harshly  I  was  taught. 

I  hasten  to  thee — not  my  German  home. 

But  home  in  Heaven.    Wilt  Thou  ?    I  am  ready. 

(He  sinks  hack.) 

In  the  last  act  appears  Colonel  Wallenstein,  the  warlike 
harbinger  of  the  new  era  which  is  to  dawn  for  Austria  and 
Germany.  His  name  calls  up  Schiller's  masterpiece,  and 
indeed  throughout  the  "Bruderzwist"  there  are  scenes 
that  invite  comparison  with  "Wallenstein."  Grillparzer's 
play  ranks,  by  the  consensus  of  the  best  critical  opinion, 
with  its  great  model.  "German  literature,"  says  Laube, 
"has  scarce  another  historic  drama  as  great  as  Grill- 
parzer's.  ^Wallenstein'  has  become  more  popular  through 
the  entrancing  diction  of  Schiller,  but  the  historic  develop- 
ment of  the  ^Bruderzwisf  is  truer  and  firmer.  The  por- 
trayal of  the  emperor  Kudolph  is  an  unsurpassed  master- 
piece." 


XXI 

GEILLPAEZEe's  MISCELLAITEOUS  WEITINGS 

Geiillpaezee's  lyric  vein,  which  lends  to  his  dramas  so 
unique  a  charm,  found  expression  in  numerous  poems, 
which  are  a  remarkably  faithful  reflex  of  his  inner  life. 
Xo  writer  ever  followed  more  scrupulously  Goethe's  ex- 
ample in  seeking  poetic  inspiration  in  the  reality  of  his 
experiences.  His  love  aifairs,  his  literary  aspirations  and 
disappointments,  his  patriotic  and  political  hopes  and 
fears,  the  drudgery  of  official  duties,  his  aesthetic  and 
philosophic  views,  his  quarrels  with  critics,  his  personal 
dislikes  and  fleeting  moods — all  this  is  revealed  in  lyrics 
of  much  force  and  grace,  and  particularly  in  hundreds 
of  epigrams  of  stinging  wit  and  telling  point.  But,  on 
the  whole,  his  verse  lacks  that  "inevitableness"  and  simple 
charm  which  captivate  us  in  the  truest  poetry.  The 
melancholy  accents  in  which  he  often  deplores  his  sad 
destiny,  as  in  "Der  Bann"  (Malediction),  or  in  the  cycle 
entitled  "Tristia  ex  Ponto,"  touch  us  deeply,  and  there 
are  powerful  lines  in  his  "Ruins  of  Campo  Vaccino" 
and  other  lyrics;  yet  a  certain  acerbity  of  sentiment  and 
obscurity  of  expression — occasionally  even  a  slovenliness 
of  form  of  which  his  dramas  fortunately  bear  so  few 
traces — detract  from  the  value  of  his  poems.  Probably 
few  of  them  will  ever  become  accessible  to  English  readers. 
Possibly  he  would  have  discountenanced  even  the  attempt 


40^    GlliLLPAl^ZEE  AKD  THE  AUSTBIAN  DBAMA 

to  render  his  dramas  into  English  verse.  "E^o  poet  can 
be  translated/'  he  remarked,  in  speaking  of  Lope  de  Yega. 
Of  perhaps  greater  intrinsic  importance  are  various 
prose  essays,  and  the  numerous  notes,  aphorisms,  and  dis- 
jointed reflections  on  literary,  philosophic,  historical  and 
aesthetic  subjects  included  in  his  collected  works.  Jotted 
dowD.  mostly  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  with  no  thought 
of  publication,  and  covering,  as  they  do,  practically  the 
entire  period  of  his  intellectual  activity,  these  notes  are 
all  the  more  interesting  from  their  momentary  point  of 
view  and  not  infrequent  contradictions — the  result  of  riper 
judgment  and  an  invariable  desire  to  be  just.  His  life- 
long study  of  the  Greek  dramatists  is  evidenced  by  a 
weighty  paper  on  the  significance  of  the  chorus  in  the  an- 
cient tragedy,  and  particularly  by  numerous  passages  on 
Euripides,  his  favorite  author  among  the  ancients.  An 
entire  volume  of  the  Cotta  edition  of  Grillparzer's  works 
is  given  up  to  his  contributions  to  the  study  of  the  Spanish 
theatre,  covering  hundreds  of  plays.  Of  the  masterpieces 
of  the  Spanish  dramatists  Grillparzer  might  often  have 
said,  in  his  moments  of  despondency,  what  Lowell  wrote 
after  the  death  of  his  second  wife :  "I  have  at  last  found 
something  I  can  read — Calderon."  Grillparzer  studied 
Calderon,  and  even  more  Lope  de  Vega,  with  loving 
minuteness.  Indeed  to  no  other  writer  did  he  turn  more 
frequently  for  inspiration  than  to  the  latter.  "Lope  de 
Vega,"  he  told  Adolf  Foglar  ("Ansichten  iiber  Littera- 
tur,  Biihne  und  Leben"),  "is  perhaps  even  more  natural 
than  Shakespeare.  Although  his  plots  are  improbable,  nay 
absurd,  and  scarcely  any  of  his  plays  can  be  performed, 
they  take  us  to  the  land  of  poesy  itself.    'None  of  the  situa- 


GRILLPARZEE^S  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  403 

tions  of  life  are  strange  to  him,  lie  has  exhausted  them  all, 
and  the  truth,  thoughtfulness,  grace  and  wit  of  his  diction 
are  unapproachable."  His  comparisons  between  Lope  and 
Calderon  are  full  of  interest.  ^'Calderon  has  the  grand 
manner,  Lope  depicts  nature  itself."  ^'Schiller  and  Cal- 
deron seem  to  be  philosophic  writers,  but  Goethe  and  Lope 
are  such  in  fact.  The  former  give  us  philosophic  discus- 
sions, the  latter  give  us  the  result." 

Shakespeare's  supremacy  Grillparzer  acknowledged  in 
many  passages  of  remarkable  critical  insight,  but  his 
greatness  oppressed  rather  than  stimulated  him.  "He 
has  spoiled  us  modern  writers,  every  one  of  us,"  he  re- 
marked. "He  gives  us  the  impression  of  reality  with  a 
power  which  forces  us  to  believe  even  in  his  improb- 
abilities." In  an  analysis  of  "Macbeth,"  which  he  calls 
"perhaps  the  greatest,  certainly  the  truest  work  of  Shake- 
speare," he  exclaims  (at  the  age  of  twenty-six)  almost 
despairingly :  "I  am  often  angry  with  myself  for  not  giv- 
ing up  the  idea  of  ever  writing  again,  after  reading  such  a 
creation."  Concerning  Shakespeare's  knowledge  of  human 
nature  he  remarks :  "Much  has  been  said  about  the  gift  of 
great  poets  to  depict  the  most  diverse  passions  and  char- 
acters foreign  to  their  own  nature,  and  there  has  been  much 
talk  about  observing  and  studying  man,  and  of  how  Shake- 
speare gathered  material  for  his  Macbeths  and  Othellos  in 
taverns  and  among  sailors  and  cart  drivers,  and  how,  when 
he  had  a  bushelful  of  such  impressions,  he  sat  down  and 
made  a  play  of  it.  O  the  wiseacres!  Genius,  in  my 
opinion,  can  give  nothing  but  what  it  finds  within  itself, 
and  will  never  depict  any  passion  or  conviction  that  it 
does  not  harbor  within  its  own  bosom.    Hence  it  happens 


404    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

that  some  young  man  will  look  with  searching  eyes  deep 
into  the  human  heart,  while  one  who  has  long  been  familiar 
with  the  world  and  its  ways,  sharp  observer  though  he  may 
be,  will  give  you  nothing  but  a  patchwork  of  phrases  that 
have  been  used  a  hundred  times  over  and  over  again. 
Would  you  then  say  that  Shakespeare  must  have  been  a 
murderer,  thief,  liar,  traitor,  ingrate,  madman,  because 
he  has  depicted  all  these  in  so  masterly  a  manner  ?  Yes ! 
That  is  to  say,  there  must  have  been  a  tendency  to  all  this 
within  him,  although  the  predominance  of  reason  and 
the  moral  sense  did  not  allow  it  to  come  to  the  surface.* 
Only  a  man  with  colossal  passions  can,  in  my  opinion, 
become  a  dramatic  poet,  but  these  must  be  under  the 
sway  of  reason,  and  in  ordinary  life  must  not  show 
themselves.  Would  that  some  poet  might  read  this!'' 
In  view  of  the  comparison  between  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 
and  "Hero  and  Leander"  that  has  so  often  been  made, 
Grillparzer's  criticism  of  Shakespeare's  greatest  love 
drama  has  a  peculiar  interest.  "One  must  make  a  great 
deal  of  allowance,"  he  writes,  "for  the  fashion  of  Shake- 
speare's time  in  order  not  to  find  the  flowery  phrases  in  the 
first  act  of  ^Romeo  and  Juliet'  most  insipid.  That  the 
change  of  passion  in  Romeo  is  much  too  rapid  and  essen- 
tially undramatic,  no  sensible  person  will  deny.  Shake- 
speare himself  seems  to  have  felt  this,  and  he  has  therefore 
introduced  in  this  place — and  nowhere  else  in  the  play — 
a  chorus,  contrary  to  the  laws  of  rhythm.  .  .  .  Precipitate 
change  of  emotion,  however  true  in  itself,  has  ever  been 
one  of  Shakespeare's  principal  faults." 

There  are  copious  notes  on  other  English  writers,  par- 
*Emerson  has  expressed  a  similar  thought  concerning  himself. 


GKILLPAEZER'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  405 

ticularly  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Swift,  Byron,  and 
Scott.  The  following  on  Swift  is  characteristic  of  Grill- 
parzer's  moral  and  aesthetic  standards : 

"Have  the  publishers  of  Swift's  works  done  well  in  in- 
cluding therein  those  obscene  riddles  the  composing  of 
which  gave  the  Dean  of  St.  Patrick,  then  nearly  sixty 
years  of  age,  so  much  pleasure  ?  I  believe  they  have.  For 
in  spite  of  the  inexpressible  pain  these  riddles  have  given 
me,  they  embody  a  great  lesson.  That  is  to  say,  they  show 
what  even  the  highest  intellectual  gifts  finally  lead  to  if 
unaccompanied  by  genuine  warmth  of  heart.  But  my 
disappointment  was  none  the  less  real,  for  I  was  on  the 
point  of  learning  to  admire  Swift,  in  spite  of  all  his 
faults." 

Among  French  writers  he  appreciated  no  one  more 
fully  than  Racine.  He  considered  him  "as  great  a  poet 
as  ever  lived,"  although  one  whose  ill-fate  it  was  to  write 
at  a  time  "when  the  heroic  passions  of  the  Middle  Ages 
were  still  smouldering,  but  were  forbidden  by  a  pleasure- 
loving  king  to  come  to  the  surface,  that  chivalrous  attach- 
ment to  the  fair  alone  excepted  which  formal  ceremoni- 
ousness  had  degraded  to  mere  gallantry.  Fifty  years  earlier 
the  poet  would  have  represented  valor,  hatred,  blood- 
thirsty revenge,  love  of  glory  and  power,  in  all  their 
mediaeval  force;  fifty  years  later  he  would  have  found 
these  passions  so  enfeebled  that  he  could  have  abandoned 
himself  unreservedly  to  his  natural  preference  for  the 
gentler  emotions.  As  it  was,  we  find  these  rough  elements 
steeped  in  a  sweetish  medium.  And  that  is  his  fault,  al- 
though his  only  one." 

Of  Moliere  he  says: 


406     GRILLPAEZEK  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

"I  do  not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  Moliere  portrayed 
himself  in  Te  Misanthrope.'  First  of  all  the  play 
teems  with  those  intimate  little  touches  which  only  he 
can  discover  who  has  himself  experienced  what  is  being 
represented.  That  the  misanthrope's  opinion  of  poetry 
was  Moliere's  own,  no  one  will  deny.  This  seems  to  be 
confirmed  even  by  the  unsatisfactory,  pointless  conclusion 
of  the  play — a  characteristic  feature  of  every  poetic  work 
which  is  the  result  of  self-irony,  as  witness  Goethe's 
'Wilhelm  Meister'  and  ^Tasso.'  How  Moliere  was  tor- 
tured by  jealousy — well-founded  jealousy,  indeed — is 
shown  by  the  story  of  his  life.  And  how  sad  was  this  life 
as  a  whole !  We  see  a  poet,  in  the  real  sense  of  the  word, 
who  is  intent  upon  what  is  great  and  noble,  and  who  yet  is 
frightened  off  by  repeated  failure  from  the  representation 
of  serious  characters  upon  the  stage,  and  is  forced  to  play 
the  merry-andrew  and  clown,  in  all  probability  despising 
himself,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  applause  of  the  multitude, 
for  sinning  against  his  own  better  self.  In  society,  his 
position  was  far  below  those  whom  he  could  not  look  upon 
as  his  equals.  Even  the  ^Misanthrope^  was  a  failure,  as 
not  being  farcical  enough.  Was  not  the  natural  result  a 
hostile  attitude  toward  social  conditions  ?  I  am  impelled 
to  think  of  Raimund,  who,  while  occupying  a  far  lower 
rank  than  Moliere,  yet  bears  in  this  respect  some  resem- 
blance to  him.  How  closely  Moliere  was  drawn  toward 
emotional  poetry — from  which  indeed  he  was  kept  back 
only  by  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  perhaps  by  the  command- 
ing influence  of  his  friend  Boileau — is  shown  by  various 
passages  throughout  his  works,  and  particularly  by  the 
little  fragment  *Melicerte.'    The  monologue  of  the  heroine 


GEILLPAEZER'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  407 

in  the  second  act  testifies  to  a  depth  of  sentiment  far  in 
advance  of  his  time,  and  rare  even  in  Racine." 

Grillparzer's  striking  analysis  of  Eousseau's  character 
may  in  some  respects  challenge  comparison  with  Morley's 
portrayal  of  the  great  Frenchman : 

"How  surprised  Rousseau  would  have  been  if  any  one 
had  called  him  the  most  complete  egotist  that  ever  lived! 
A  man  who  liked  in  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact 
merely  the  ideas  which  he  could  associate  with  them,  but 
never  the  persons  themselves;  who  therefore  never  had  a 
real  friend,  nor  ever  found  a  woman  who  truly  loved  him ; 
who  put  his  children  into  the  foundling  hospital  because 
they  interfered  with  the  life  plan  he  had  mapped  out  for 
himself,  and  was  ever  after  utterly  indifferent  to  their 
fate ;  who,  in  order  to  remain  unfettered,  kept  the  woman 
who  showed  such  devotion  for  him,  as  his  mistress,  instead 
of  rendering  her  happy  by  the  name  of  wife;  who  con- 
sidered himself  the  centre  of  creation,  and  all  that  hap- 
pened around  him  merely  as  having  happened  for  his  sake ; 
who,  if  an  earthquake  or  the  sudden  eruption  of  a  volcano 
had  disturbed  him  in  writing,  would  have  looked  upon  it  as 
a  conspiracy  against  his  person;  whose  desire  for  distinc- 
tion was  so  great  that  because  he  could  not  possess  all  the 
outward  tokens  of  it  alone,  he  preferred  to  renounce  dis- 
tinction altogether ;  who  despised  the  world  because  he  did 
not  know  how  to  live  in  it;  despised  society  because  he 
could  not  adapt  himself  to  its  tone;  who  sought  solitude 
because  in  it  he  found  what  alone  interested  him  in  this 
world — himself,  his  thoughts  and  emotions.  If  all  this 
had  been  told  him  by  some  one  who  at  the  same  time  pro- 
fessed brotherly  aentiments,  what  would  he  have  answered  I 


408     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

He  would  never  have  believed  him,  though  all  of  what  I 
have  said  is  true — without  necessarily  implying  that  Eous- 
seau  was  morally  the  worse  for  it.  His  condition  was  that 
of  a  being  completely  dominated  by  his  thoughts.  He  be- 
lieved that  he  was  controlled  by  his  emotions,  but  the 
reverse  was  the  case ;  his  emotions  invariably  resulted  from 
his  thoughts,  and  from  them  alone.  Whatever  offered  no 
scope  for  his  ideas  did  not  touch  his  emotions,  as  witness 
his  children,  who  crossed  his  plans,  and  therefore  had  to  be 
taken  out  of  his  way.  Xever  did  he  speak  a  truer  word  of 
himself  than  when  he  said :  'I  must  be  left  to  my  thoughts 
if  I  am  to  love'  (J'ai  besoin  de  me  recueillir  pour  aimer), 
and  herein  lies  the  key  to  his  life.  Whoever  abandons  him- 
self completely  to  his  thoughts,  particularly  in  solitude, 
will  find  that  they  swallow  up  the  whole  world,  feeding 
everywhere  on  the  nourishment  they  crave,  and  finally 
leaving  him  who  is  their  prey  alone  in  an  empty  and  joy- 
less desert." 

The  stoical  side  of  Grillparzer's  own  character  rebelled 
against  sentimentalists  of  whatever  type,  and  Mme.  de 
StaeFs  querulous  complaints  in  her  banishment  found  in 
him  a  scathing  critic : 

^^In  what  did  her  misfortune  in  exile  consist?  In  the 
fact  that  she  could  no  longer  shine  in  those  Paris  circles 
for  which  she  had  so  silly  an  attachment.  Her  lamenta- 
tions are  a  crime  against  all  those  who  at  that  time  had 
real  cause  for  complaint." 

Much  that  is  incisive  and  telling  may  be  found  in  his 
notes  on  Voltaire,  Lamartine,  Victor  Hugo,  Delavigne, 
and  other  French  writers,  as  well  as  in  those  on  Dante, 
Ariosto,  Machiavelli  and  other  great  Italians ;  but  perhaps 


GKILLPARZER'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  409 

nothing  is  better  worth  quoting,  as  illustrative  of 
Grillparzer's  breadth  of  view,  than  this  critical  notice 
of  a  German  translation  of  Ghiberti's  chronicle  of  Flor- 
ence: 

"I  must  confess  that  few  books  have  made  so  deep  an 
impression  upon  me.  While  Benvenuto  Cellini's  Tife' 
shows  us  the  heaven-storming  Titan,  who,  intent  upon  his 
work  in  his  inexhaustible  power,  regards  all  those  beside 
and  around  him  as  so  many  disturbing  and  antagonizing 
opponents,  Ghiberti's  gentle,  perhaps  somewhat  feminine, 
nature  clings  with  a  glorifying  love  to  his  contemporaries, 
and  affords  us  a  picture  of  those  days  the  equal  of  which 
no  other  epoch  in  art  can  show.  The  Michael- Angelo-like 
Brunelleschi,  the  joyous  Donatello,  Masaccio,  Filippo 
Lippi — monk  and  painter — the  wonderful  Leonardo  da 
Vinci,  in  his  early  beginnings,  and  the  peaceful  painter  of 
Fiesole — briefly  mentioned  yet  throwing  over  us,  as  it 
were,  a  shimmer  of  his  angelic  halo — added  to  all  these 
a  world  of  artists  of  the  second  and  third  rank,  whom  we 
see  not  only  in  sharply  defined  outline,  but  in  all  their 
relations  of  life,  and  in  situations  such  as  to-day  are  found 
only  in  novels,  but  which  those  days  produced  in  abun- 
dance. What  an  age!  There  are  entire  countries  whose 
history  from  the  creation  of  the  world  to  the  year  of  our 
Lord  1833  offers  not  half  as  much  of  real  interest  as 
little  Florence  under  the  Medici.  Truly,  he  who  espies 
at  a  distance  an  Italian  in  the  street  ought  to  uncover  his 
head,  and  say  to  himself:  ^Here  is  one  of  those  who  are 
the  fathers  of  modern  civilization.'  I  do  not  doubt  that 
many  will  ridicule  such  an  idea.  Let  those  not  read  Ghi- 
berti's book ;  all  others  will  enjoy  it." 


410    GRILLPAKZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Grillparzer  thought  much  on  philosophical  subjects, 
but  he  subscribed  to  no  philosophic  or  religious  creed. 
In  his  conception  of  duty  he  was  a  disciple  of  Kant;  the 
speculations  of  Plato,  Spinoza,  Hegel,  Fichte,  and  Schell- 
ing  attracted  him,  but  did  not  dominate  his  thought.  He 
devoted  much  space  in  his  writings  to  Hegel's  philosophy, 
and  directed  against  it  some  of  his  keenest  satirical  shafts. 
Personally,  the  men  liked  each  other.  When,  in  1826, 
Grillparzer  visited  Hegel  in  Berlin,  he  told  him  frankly 
that  he  was  totally  unacquainted  with  his  philosophy. 
"All  the  better,"  replied  the  philosopher.  "I  found 
Hegel,''  writes  Grillparzer  in  his  autobiography,  "person- 
ally as  pleasant,  sensible  and  conciliatory  as  I  subsequently 
found  his  system  abstruse  and  aggressive."  Hegel,  on  his 
part,  described  Grillparzer  in  a  letter  to  Gans  as  "a  very 
simple,  sensible,  and  serious  man."  Much  has  been  said 
by  some  Grillparzer  students  about  Hegel's  influence  on  his 
political  ideas,  especially  as  to  his  conception  of  the  func- 
tions of  the  state.  Even  the  key  to  Grillparzer's  "mo- 
dernity" has  been  sought  in  Hegel's  dialectics.  Whatever 
the  poet  may  have  unconsciously  imbibed  from  the  phil- 
osopher, he  has  not  left  us  in  doubt  as  to  his  opinion  of 
Hegel's  teachings.  He  summed  up  his  judgment,  in  1860, 
as  follows: 

"Hegel's  philosophy,  the  most  monstrous  abortion  of 
human  conceit,  seems  to  have  had  its  final  day  as  a  sys- 
tem; but  like  a  restless  ghost  it  continues  to  haunt  most 
branches  of  human  knowledge,  particularly  history  and 
aesthetics." 

Some  years  previously  he  had  written:  "I  look  upon 
Hegel's  philosophy  as  I  do  upon  Christianity.    From  the 


GRILLPARZER'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  411 

twaddle  of  theologians  one  might  conclude  that  after  the 
atonement  of  Christ,  and  the  wiping  out  of  the  original 
sin,  mankind  ought  necessarily  to  have  improved ;  but  men 
are  as  bad  now  as  thej  ever  were  before.  Just  as  natural 
was  it  to  expect  that  after  Hegel  had  demonstrated  the 
final  cause  and  the  necessary  connection  between  knowl- 
edge and  existence,  the  effect  on  the  various  specific  doc- 
trines of  philosophy  would  have  become  apparent.  But 
they  have  all  remained  precisely  where  they  were  before 
Hegel.'' 

As  to  the  indirect  influence  of  Hegel  on  the  German 
people,  Grillparzer  said : 

"The  harm  that  Hegel's  philosophy  has  done  to  German 
culture  may  perhaps  be  summarized  as  follows:  First  of 
all,  he  has  through  his  speculations,  which  brooked  no  con- 
tradiction, suppressed  the  natural  expression  of  thought — 
what  is  ordinarily  called  common  sense.  Secondly, 
his  philosophy,  by  its  obscurity,  nay  unintelligibility,  has 
reared  blind  followers,  who  make  themselves  heard  every- 
where. And  by  its  assurance  that  the  world  has  now 
become  transparent,  and  that  the  riddle  of  the  universe 
has  been  solved,  his  philosophy  has  bred  a  self-conceit  the 
like  of  which  never  existed  before." 

Metaphysical  theorizing  in  general  he  considered  out 
of  place  in  an  age  where  the  progress  of  the  natural 
sciences  and  the  increased  material  demands  due  to  over- 
population lead  man  to  wrest  from  Nature  her  inmost 
secrets.  "When  once  the  spirit  of  investigation  has  become 
universal,  it  will  not  easily  set  barriers  to  itself,  least  of  all 
will  it  allow  arbitrary  outside  interference  to  interpose 
them.    Reason  is  quite  willing  to  admit  that  there  are  some 


412    GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

riddles  it  cannot  solve,  and  it  recognizes  as  a  benefit  any 
bridging  of  the  gulf  it  cannot  cross,  but  only  in  so  far  as 
what  is  offered  is  not  opposed  to  its  very  essence,  and  com- 
mands respect  in  itself.  Nevermore,  however,  will  reason 
tolerate  any  interference  on  the  part  of  tradition  with  the 
established  laws  of  Nature  and  the  foundations  of  moral 
order.  Creation  out  of  nothing,  transubstantiation,  orig- 
inal sin,  and  redemption  through  merit  other  than  our  own 
will  probably  never  again  be  seriously  discussed.  But  all 
this  may  long  survive  in  a  sort  of  mysterious  indefinite- 
ness,  and  by  reason  of  its  moral  value  Christianity  may — 
indeed,  let  us  hope  it  will — continue  to  accompany  man- 
kind to  the  end.  No  power  on  earth,  however,  will  succeed 
in  reviving  religious  antagonisms.  These  cannot  be  forci- 
bly brought  back  into  modern  life;  any  attempt  in  this 
direction  would  result  in  their  dissolving  into  their  real 
nothingness." 

Politically  loyal  to  established  authority,  Grillparzer 
recognized  in  the  domain  of  intellect  no  other  law  than 
that  of  absolute  devotion  to  his  ideals.  He  was  no  re- 
specter of  learned  formulas,  and  did  not  bow  before  any 
literary  idol.  One  of  his  most  elaborate  essays,  entitled 
"Zur  Literargeschichte,"  is  a  lively  protest  against  the 
methods  of  literary  historians,  particularly  those  of  Ger- 
many, who  deify  the  great,  bolster  up  the  mediocre,  and 
confuse  the  reader  by  arbitrary  rules  and  superficial  gen- 
eralizations. At  a  time  when  there  is  a  notable  dearth  of 
talent,  they  are  always  ready,  he  says,  with  the  consolation 
that  the  country  is  merely  passing  through  a  period  of 
transition,  and  that  the  future  (provided  every  one  followed 
in  the  path  marked  out  by  them)  would  certainly  bring 


GRILLPAEZER'S  MISCELLAISTEOUS  WRITINGS  413 

forth  a  new  crop  of  geniuses.  "That  in  this  way  something 
extraordinary  is  bound  to  come,  they  never  doubt  for  an 
instant."  "I  remember  in  this  connection,"  he  adds,  "a 
political  journalist  who  in  184'8  was  greatly  surprised  that 
the  general  upheaval  had  produced  no  great  man,  accord- 
ing to  the  rule  that  revolutions  always  bring  great  men  to 
the  surface — which  is  true  enough,  provided  great  men 
happen  to  be  around  at  that  time." 

That  form  of  Teutomania  which  converted  the  study  of 
German  folk-lore  into  a  fetich,  and  credited  the  German 
nation  as  a  whole  with  the  talents  possessed  by  a  few  indi- 
viduals, Grillparzer  covered  with  ridicule : 

"It  was  suddenly  discovered  that  the  German  nation  was 
poetic  to  its  very  core,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  poema 
which  had  been  unearthed,  with  the  exception  of  the  mys- 
terious Xibelungenlied,  bore  their  foreign  origin  openly  on 
their  face.  It  was  assumed  that  there  existed  popular 
epics  of  an  antediluvian  age,  or  at  least  fragments  of 
such,  which  some  Middle-High-German  pedant  had  patched 
together,  thereby  producing  some  extraordinary  work  of 
genius  in  a  purely  mechanical  way.  These  popular  songs, 
written  by  no  one  in  particular,  were  credited  to  the  un- 
couth masses,  and  poetic  genius  became  thenceforth  super- 
fluous. The  people  and  a  few  pedants  provided  all  that 
was  necessary." 

Like  all  great  dramatists  who  take  their  subjects  where 
they  find  them,  and  like  all  critics  who  respect  literature 
of  whatever  kind,  except  the  genre  ennuyeux,  Grillparzer 
had  no  tolerance  for  that  aesthetic  craving  which  looks  in 
every  dramatic  masterpiece  for  the  underlying  theory. 
Literary  historians  and  writers  who,  with  all  their  suscepti- 


414    GEILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

bility  for  what  is  beautiful,  are  powerless  to  create  any- 
thing that  bears  beauty's  stamp — feminine  geniuses  Jean 
Paul  calls  them — ^had  laid  do^vn  the  axiom  that  religious 
feeling  was  the  impelling  motive  of  the  dramatic  master- 
pieces of  Greece  and  Spain,  and  had  argued  that  the  mod- 
ern enfeeblement  of  religious  belief  was  responsible  for 
the  decay  of  the  drama.  Grillparzer  answered  them: 
"Look  at  Calderon.  A  hundred  times  he  has  used  Catholic 
superstition  (which  is  nothing  but  masked  pagan  or,  to 
speak  plainly,  human  superstition)  and  scarcely  once  re- 
ligious belief.  Yet  the  superstition  in  his  verses  thrills 
men  who  despise  it  in  religion.  Explain  this  to  me,  if 
you  can,  ye  old  modern  Germans  V' 

Grillparzer's  critical  spirit  was  nowhere  more  search- 
ingly  employed  than  in  his  study  of  Goethe.  In  their 
totality  his  utterances  show  that,  with  all  his  admiration 
for  Germany's  greatest  genius,  his  honest  nature  some- 
times protested  against  the  towering  universal  supremacy 
thoughtlessly  claimed  for  him.  One  of  his  profound- 
est  criticisms  (written  in  1841)  refers  to  the  "Elective 
Afimities" : 

"What  is  most  disturbing  in  the  Wahlverwandtschaf- 
ten'  is  the  offensive  importance  given  from  the  very  be- 
ginning to  the  laying  out  of  the  park,  the  petty  architec- 
tural details,  and  other  things  of  this  kind — an  importance 
equal  to  that  of  the  main  incidents.  We  feel  as  though  we 
were  reading  a  chapter  from  the  life  of  Goethe  himself, 
who  partially  paralyzed  his  incomparable  gifts  by  taking 
almost  as  much  interest  in  such  pastimes  as  in  the  most 
important  concerns  of  his  real  life.  There  must  be  a 
gradation  of  interest,  and  what  is  lavished  on  minor  inci- 


(IRILLPARZER^S  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  415 

dents  is  by  so  much  withdrawn  from  the  main  action. 
By  such  spinning  out  of  details,  he,  moreover,  deprived 
himself  of  the  necessary  space  in  which  to  transform  the 
purely  mechanical  element  of  his  ^Wahlverwandtschaften' 
into  the  psychological  or,  rather,  moral.  Women  like 
Charlotte  do  not  transfer  their  affections  at  a  bound,  and 
many  steps  in  the  scale  of  events  and  emotions  are  required 
until  women  like  Ottilie  turn  even  in  thought  to  mis- 
conduct or  sin.  .  .  .  But  granted  all  this,  what  a  wonder- 
ful masterpiece  this  work  is !  As  regards  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  wisdom,  depth  of  sentiment,  power  of 
description,  character  drawing,  and  poetic  idealization  of 
the  apparently  commonplace,  no  literature  can  show  its 
equal.  Before  one  has  reached  the  age  of  fifty,  one  can 
scarcely  fully  appreciate  it,  but  it  is  as  much  a  part  of  the 
curse  as  of  the  blessing  of  the  years  of  maturity  that  one 
can  appreciate  it  then.  If  I  could  claim  its  authorship  as 
a  gift,  I  should  not  care  to  have  written  it.  The  passionate 
exaltation  of  a  Byron  may  perhaps  disregard  all  limits, 
and,  indeed,  poetry  derives  its  very  being  from  the  over- 
stepping of  all  bounds,  but  the  nearer  any  literary  work  is 
to  actual  life,  the  more  is  it  bound  to  respect  that  without 
which  life  is  an  abomination  and  a  horror." 

The  key-note  of  Grillparzer's  own  intellectual  life  was 
sincerity  and  clearness,  hence  he  was  repelled  by  the  ob- 
scure symbolism  of  the  second  part  of  "Faust."  "With 
advancing  age,"  he  wrote,  "but  perhaps  even  more  through 
the  bureaucratic  activity  of  his  last  years,  Goethe  lost 
much  of  that  vivifying  and  visualizing  power  which  alone 
creates  images  and  awakens  emotions.  The  characters 
which  he  had  endowed  with  all  the  wealth  of  his  youth 


416    GEILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

had  faded  into  dreams  and  bloodless  shadows,  which  may 
still,  in  some  respects,  command  our  admiration,  but  toward 
which  we  are  no  longer  drawn  by  real  sympathy.  Perhaps 
we  might  say  that  in  his  last  days  Goethe  had  a  natural 
desire  to  leave  none  of  the  children  of  his  intellect  un- 
provided for.  .  .  .  He  was  thus  impelled  to  weld  together 
certain  parts  and  fragments  originally  never  intended  for 
each  other's  company,  and  he  left  the  care  of  providing  for 
the  unity  of  the  whole  to  the  admiration  of  future  genera- 
tions and  to  the  magic  of  his  name." 

In  comparing  Schiller  with  Goethe,  Grillparzer  says: 
"Schiller  can  and  ought  to  be  imitated,  for  he  is  the  high- 
est example  of  his  kind,  and  hence  a  model  for  those  akin 
to  him.  Goethe,  however,  is  an  exceptional  being,  com- 
prising within  himself  so  many  half-contradictory  quali- 
ties that  the  like  of  them  may  perhaps  not  again  be  found 
united  in  the  course  of  centuries.  He  stands  alone,  and 
even  were  we  inclined  to  consider  him  as  the  greatest  of 
a  species,  it  would  be  a  species  of  a  rather  questionable. 
kind.  Fortunately,  he  would  tower  immeasurably  above 
those  next  to  him  in  greatness." 

Grillparzer  touches  upon  the  besetting  sin  of  so  many 
dramatists,  in  saying  of  Schiller :  "If  one  could  only  elimi- 
nate the  two  monologues  of  Elizabeth  and  Leicester  in 
'Maria  StuartM  It  is  Schiller's  greatest  fault  that  he 
speaks  too  often  himself  instead  of  allowing  his  characters 
to  speak.  Even  the  monologues  of  Wallenstein  spoil 
much  of  the  good  impression  previously  created.  It  is, 
however,  easier  to  criticise  such  things  than  to  do  better 
one's  self.  He  who  knows  how  innumerable  are  the 
threads  that  cross  and  recross  each  other  in  the  handling 


'    GKILLPARZER^S  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  417 

of  a  vast  dramatic  web,  will  easily  forgive  the  author  if 
now  and  then  a  few  slip  through  his  fingers." 

The  critical  acuteness  which  Grillparzer  displayed  in 
judging  others  he  was  only  too  ready  to  turn  against  him- 
self, as  witness  the  notes  grouped  together  as  '^Studies 
Appertaining  to  the  Author^s  Own  Works."  We  have 
seen  that  he  did  himself  far  less  than  justice  in  adopting 
as  final  the  contemporary  estimates  of  "Medea"  and  "Des 
Meeres  und  der  Liebe  Wellen."  In  his  moments  of  gloom 
he  went  even  further  in  distrust  of  his  powers.  In  his 
testament,  dra^vn  up  during  the  revolutionary  troubles  of 
1848,  he  charged  Katharina  Frohlich  with  the  disposition 
of  his  posthumous  works,  but  enjoined  her  from  giving  to 
the  world  two  of  his  greatest  dramas  by  this  clause :  "It  is 
my  wish  that,  of  my  unprinted  works,  the  two  apparently 
finished  tragedies,  'Emperor  Rudolph  II.'  and  'Libussa,' 
be  not  printed,  but  without  examination  destroyed.  I 
wrote  these  during  the  time  of  the  worst  intellectual 
thraldom,  at  long  intervals,  in  order  to  occupy  my  thoughts, 
rather  than  with  any  real  interest  and  enthusiasm.  In 
their  present  shape  they  merely  embody  the  general  plan 
and  ideas  p  the  execution  itself  I  postponed  for  better  days. 
These  better  days  have  never  come,  and  I  do  not  want  to 
see  my  name  disgraced  by  such  lifeless  and  unsatisfactory 
sketches."  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  two 
dramas  were  then  substantially  finished  as  we  now  know 
them,  and  it  is  fortunate  indeed  that  their  author  lived  to 
ward  off  the  fate  he  had  intended  for  them. 


XXII 

GRILLPARZER  AND  BEETHOVEN 

Grillparzer''s  relations  to  music  and  musicians  colored 
his  entire  life.  Prof.  Eduard  Hanslick,  the  famous  Vienna 
musical  critic,  said  of  him:  "There  is  no  other  great  poet 
who  has  occupied  himself  with  music  so  seriously  and 
lovingly,  and  has  so  fully  grasped  its  very  essence,  as 
Grillparzer.  I  know  of  no  poet  who  from  his  inmost  soul 
has  given  out  such  a  wealth  of  profound  and  original 
thoughts  on  music  and  musical  works,  and  has  so  clearly 
expressed  what  he  felt."  Hanslick  was  a  consistent  oppo- 
nent of  Richard  Wagner,  and  his  admiration  for  Grill- 
parzer's  conservative  musical  theories  will  perhaps  not  be 
fully  shared  by  modern  music  lovers. 

Grillparzer  inherited  from  his  mother  a  boundless  ad- 
miration for  Mozart.  She  herself  had  often  seen  Mozart 
and  Haydn  in  her  father's  home,  vhere  composers  and 
artists  were  wont  to  assemble.  In  the  days  of  Grillparzer's 
youth  the  love  of  music,  which  has  always  been  character- 
istic of  the  gay  Kaiserstadt,  amounted  to  a  real  passion. 
The  expression  of  what  people  thought  on  political  and 
even  on  literary  matters  was  frowned  down  upon  at  that 
time  of  intellectual  repression,  and  music  was  resorted  to 
as  the  vehicle  of  vague  sentiment  and  aspiration. 

Grillparzer  met  Schubert  in  the  home  of  the  Frohlichs, 
where  the  composer  was  a  frequent  guest.  The  two  young 
men  were  from  the  first  drawn  to  each  other.    Grillparzer 


GEILLPARZEE  AND  BEETHOVEN  419 

was,  next  to  Bauernfeld,  one  of  Schubert^s  most  intimate 
friends,  and  the  poet  early  recognized  in  the  composer  the 
legitimate  successor  of  Mozart.  In  artless  verse  Grill- 
parzer  has  characterized  Schubert's  originality  and  uncon- 
ventional, personal  charm.  When  the^r^at^composer  died, 
Grillparzer  was  asked  to  write  his  epitaph.  He  chose  the 
simple  words:  "Death  has  entombed  here  a  rich  treasure, \' 
but  even  more  beautiful  hopes.'' 

Grillparzer  has  left  on  record  his  recollections  of 
Beethoven,  which  date  back  to  the  year  1804  or  1805. 
The  boy  saw  him  first  at  an  evening  entertainment  at 
the  house  of  his  uncle  Sonnleithner,  a  well-known  music 
publisher  and  patron  of  art.  Among  the  guests  were 
Beethoven,  Cherubini  and  an  eccentric  abbe  by  the  name 
of  Yogler.  A  year  or  two  later  Grillparzer  spent  the  sum- 
mer with  his  parents  in  the  village  of  Heiligenstadt,  near 
Vienna.  "Our  dwelling,"  he  relates,  "looked  out  upon  the 
garden,  while  the  rooms  toward  the  street  had  been  rented 
by  Beethoven.  The  two  dwellings  were  connected  by  a 
corridor,  which  led  to  the  staircase.  My  brothers  and  I 
took  little  notice  of  the  queer  man — now  become  stouter 
and  dressed  very  negligently,  even  slovenly — as  he  shot 
past  us  with  a  growl.  My  mother,  however,  who  was  a 
passionate  lover  of  music,  would  every  now^  and  then,  when 
she  heard  him  play  on  the  piano,  step  out  upon  the  common 
corridor,  and,  standing  not  close  to  his  door,  but  directly 
in  front  of  ours,  listen  with  rapt  attention.  This  had, 
perhaps,  happened  a  few  times  when,  on  one  occasion, 
Beethoven's  door  suddenly  opened,  and  he  stepped  out. 
He  perceived  my  mother,  hurried  back,  and  immediately 
after,  with  his  hat  on,  rushed  dowa  the  stairs  and  out  into 


420     GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

the  street.  From  this  moment  on  he  never  more  touched 
the  piano  in  his  room.  In  vain  did  my  mother,  who  had  no 
other  chance  of  communicating  with  him,  assure  him 
through  his  man-servant  that  not  only  would  she  never 
again  listen  to  his  playing,  but  that  the  door  leading  from 
our  room  to  the  corridor  would  remain  closed,  and  that  all 
the  inmates  of  our  dwelling  would  thereafter  use  the 
roundabout  exit  into  the  garden  instead  of  the  common 
staircase.    Beethoven  remained  obdurate." 

In  the  course  of  a  subsequent  summer  young  Grillparzer 
again  saw  Beethoven  in  his  country  retreat.  The  composer 
was  then  in  Dobling,  another  favorite  suburban  resort  of 
the  Viennese,  where  Grillparzer  was  visiting  his  grand- 
mother. Beethoven  was  then  paying  court  to  the  pretty 
daughter  of  a  peasant  named  Flohberger.  Neither  father 
nor  child  enjoyed  the  best  reputation.  "I  still  see  Beet- 
hoven before  me,"  relates  Grillparzer,  '^coming  up  the 
Hirschengasse,  in  his  right  hand  a  white  handkerchief, 
which  trailed  after  him  on  the  ground,  and  finally  stopping 
in  front  of  the  gate  of  Flohberger's  courtyard,  inside  of 
which  the  frivolous  beauty  was  standing  upon  a  hay  or 
manure  wagon,  laughingly  manipulating  its  contents  with 
a  pitchfork.  I  never  saw  Beethoven  address  her;  he 
simply  stood  silent  and  gazed,  until  the  girl,  who  doubt- 
less found  peasant  boys  much  more  to  her  taste,  excited 
his  ire  either  by  some  word  of  mockery  or  by  her  per- 
sistent ignoring  of  him.  Then  he  would  suddenly  turn 
about  and  dash  off,  all  of  which  did  not  prevent  him  from 
taking  his  place  at  the  gate  next  time.  Indeed,  his 
interest  in  the  girl  went  so  far  that  when  her  father, 
because  of  some  drunken  row,  was  put  into  the  village 


GRILLPARZER  AND  BEETHOVEN  421 

jail,  Beethoven  interceded  in  person  for  his  release  before 
the  assembled  village  authorities,  on  which  occasion  he,  in 
his  usual  manner,  berated  those  worthies  so  unmercifully 
that  he  came  within  an  ace  of  sharing  the  captivity  of  his 
protege." 

Grillparzer  did  not  really  make  Beethoven's  acquaint- 
ance until  some  time  after  the  performance  of  ^'Konig 
Ottokars  Gluck  und  Ende,"  when  he  was  informed  by 
Count  Dietrichstein,  the  nominal  head  of  the  two  imperial 
theatres,  that  Beethoven  had  expressed  a  desire  to  have  a 
libretto  from  his  pen.  Grillparzer,  after  some  hesitation 
— due  to  a  doubt  whether  the  composer,  at  that  time 
already  completely  deaf,  was  still  able  to  write  an  opera — 
consented  to  furnish  a  libretto,  and  chose  for  it  the  sub- 
ject of  Melusine.  When  the  book  was  ready,  he  sent  it 
to  Beethoven,  leaving  it  to  his  judgment  whether  to  use 
it  or  not. 

"A  few  days  afterward,"  he  writes,  "Schindler,  then 
Beethoven^s  business  manager — the  same  who  afterward 
wrote  his  biography — called  on  me  and  told  me  that  his 
master,  who  was  indisposed,  requested  me  to  visit  him. 
1  dressed,  and  we  started  immediately  for  Beethoven's 
house.  He  lived  at  that  time  in  the  Landstrasse,  and  I 
found  him  lying,  in  untidy  night  attire,  on  a  disarranged 
bed,  a  book  in  his  hand.  At  the  head  of  the  bed  there  was 
a  small  door,  leading,  as  I  subsequently  perceived,  to  a 
little  cabinet  containing  some  eatables,  on  which  he  kept  an 
eye.  When  a  servant  finally  appeared,  with  butter  and 
eggs,  Beethoven,  although  engaged  in  animated  conversa- 
tion, could  not  refrain  from  casting  a  searching  glance  at 
the  quantity  of  food  carried  out  of  the  cabinet,  which 


422    GKILLPAKZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAX  DKAMA 

gave  me  a  sad  insight  into  the  troubles  of  his  domestic 
life. 

"When  we  entered,  Beethoven  rose  from  his  bed,  gave 
me  his  hand,  overwhelmed  me  with  expressions  of  esteem, 
and  immediately  began  talking  about  his  opera.  ^Your 
work  is  right  here,'  he  said,  pointing  to  his  heart;  ^in  a 
few  days  I  shall  go  to  the  country,  and  then  I  shall  at  once 
begin  to  set  it  to  music.  But  the  hunters'  chorus,  with 
which  the  libretto  opens,  troubles  me.  Weber  used  four 
bugle-horns  in  his  chorus,  you  will  therefore  see  that  I 
shall  have  to  have  eight,  and  what  then?'  Although  I 
could  not  see  the  logic  of  his  argument,  I  told  him  that 
the  hunters'  chorus  might  easily  be  spared  altogether,  with- 
out injury  to  the  whole — a  concession  with  which  he 
seemed  to  be  very  much  pleased." 

Grillparzer  was  entirely  indifferent  to  the  commercial 
aspects  of  their  partnership,  on  which  Beethoven  laid 
great  stress.  In  spite,  however,  of  his  eagerness  to  draw 
up  a  contract  at  once,  and  his  apparent  entire  satisfaction 
with  the  libretto  as  it  stood,  Beethoven  for  some  reason  de- 
layed the  execution  of  the  work ;  and  when,  in  the  course 
of  the  summer,  Grillparzer  visited  him  in  the  country, 
there  was  no  further  talk  about  the  opera  between  them. 
Their  conversation  was  carried  on  by  Grillparzer' s  writing 
down  what  he  had  to  say  on  loose  sheets  of  paper,  which 
have  been  preserved. 

"I  remember  vividly,"  continues  the  autobiography, 
"that  Beethoven,  when  we  sat  down  at  the  table,  went  into 
the  adjoining  room  and  brought  out  ^ve  bottles  of  wine. 
One  of  these  he  put  before  Schindler's  plate,  one  before 
his  own,  and  three  he  placed  in  a  row  before  me,  probably 


GRILLPARZEE  AND  BEETHOVEN  423 

in  order  to  indicate,  in  his  naively  ignorant,  good- 
natured  way,  that  I  was  at  liberty  to  drink  as  much  as  I 
pleased.  When  I  started  to  drive  back  to  the  city,  with- 
out Schindler,  who  remained  in  Hetzendorf ,  Beethoven  in- 
sisted on  accompanying  me.  He  sat  down  next  to  me  in 
the  open  wagon,  but  instead  of  going  merely  to  the  limits 
of  his  district,  he  drove  with  me  back  to  the  city,  at  the 
gates  of  which  he  alighted;  and  after  a  hearty  hand- 
shake, he  started  alone  upon  his  return  tramp  of  an  hour 
and  a  half.  As  he  left  the  carriage,  I  saw  a  paper  lying 
in  the  place  where  he  had  sat.  Thinking  he  had  forgotten 
it,  I  motioned  to  him  to  return,  but  he  shook  his  head,  and 
laughing  loudly,  as  if  delighted  with  the  success  of  his  ruse, 
he  ran  off  with  increased  speed  in  the  opposite  direction. 
I  opened  the  paper,  and  found  that  it  contained  the  exact 
amount  of  the  fare  which  I  had  agreed  upon  with  the 
driver.  So  estranged  had  he  become,  through  his  manner 
of  living,  from  all  worldly  customs,  that  it  never  entered 
his  mind  what  an  insulting  proceeding  this  might  be  con- 
sidered by  any  one  else.  I  took  the  matter  as  he  intended 
it,  and  laughingly  paid  the  driver  with  the  money  pre- 
sented to  me. 

"I  saw  him — I  do  not  know  where — but  once  more  after 
that.  He  then  told  me :  ^Your  opera  is  ready.'  Whether 
he  meant,  ^all  thought  out,'  or  whether  the  countless  note- 
books in  which  he  jotted  down,  for  future  elaboration, 
detached  thoughts  and  notes,  intelligible  to  him  only, 
contained  fragments  of  that  opera,  I  cannot  say.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  after  his  death  not  a  single  note  was  found 
which  could  have  been  identified  as  relating  to  our  com- 
mon work.     For  my  part,  I  remained  true  to  my  reso- 


424    GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAlSr  DEAMA 

lution  not  to  remind  him,  in  any  way,  of  my  libretto,  and 
as  I  found  it  burdensome  to  converse  with  him  by  means 
of  a  writing  tablet,  I  never  more  approached  him  until, 
dressed  in  black,  and  a  burning  taper  in  my  hand,  I 
walked  behind  his  coffin. 

"Two  days  before,  Schindler  had  come  to  me  in  the  even- 
ing with  the  announcement  that  Beethoven  was  dying,  and 
that  his  friends  expected  me  to  prepare  an  address,  which 
the  actor  Anschiitz  was  to  deliver  at  his  grave.  I  was  all 
the  more  shocked  as  I  had  heard  practically  nothing  about 
Beethoven's  illness;  but  I  endeavored  to  collect  my 
thoughts,  and  the  next  morning  I  began  to  write  down  the 
address.  I  had  proceeded  as  far  as  the  second  half  when 
Schindler  again  entered  my  room,  to  call  for  what  he  had 
ordered;  for  Beethoven,  he  told  me,  had  just  died.  My 
heart  sank  within  me,  tears  streamed  from  my  eyes  and — 
as  had  happened  to  me  on  other  occasions  when  I  was  over- 
come by  genuine  emotion  while  writing — I  was  not  able 
to  finish  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  I  had  begun.  The 
address  was,  however,  delivered. 

"I  may  say  that  I  truly  loved  Beethoven.  If  I  can 
relate  but  little  concerning  my  talks  with  him,  the  prin- 
cipal reason  is  that  I  am  not  interested  in  what  an  artist 
has  to  say,  but  in  what  he  does.  If  talking  were  a  criterion 
of  artistic  capacity,  Germany  would  be  as  full  of  artists 
as,  in  reality,  she  is  devoid  of  them.  Among  the  things 
Beethoven  told  me,  I  remember  his  high  praise  of  Schiller, 
and  his  remark  that  he  considered  the  lot  of  poets  a  far 
happier  one  than  that  of  musicians,  inasmuch  as  their  field 
was  so  much  wider.  I  recollect  that  his  estimate  of 
Weber's  'Euryanthe'  was  no  higher  than  my  own.     On 


GEILLPAEZER  AND  BEETHOVEN  425 

the  whole,  it  was  probably  the  successes  of  Weber  that 
suggested  to  him  the  thought  of  writing  another  opera 
himself.  But  his  imagination  had  become  so  unbridled 
that  no  libretto  in  the  world  would  have  been  able  to  con- 
fine his  creations  within  given  limits.  He  looked  far 
and  wide  for  one,  but  could  not  find  it." 

Grillparzer's  funeral  oration  is  worthy  of  its  subject. 
We  hear  Beethoven^s  own  strains  in  such  passages: 

"As  the  leviathan  scours  the  main,  so  he  traverses  the 
realms  of  art  in  his  flight.  From  the  cooing  of  the  dove  to 
the  rolling  of  the  thunder,  from  the  subtlest  combinations 
of  all  the  resources  of  an  arbitrary  technique  to  that  awe- 
inspiring  height  where  the  artistic  impulse  gives  way  to 
a  lawless  caprice,  reminding  us  of  the  warring  powers  of 
nature,  he  seizes  everything,  makes  everything  his  o^vn. 
Whoever  comes  after  him  will  not  continue  in  his  strain, 
but  will  have  to  begin  anew,  for  Beethoven's  work  ends  only 
where  art  itself  ends." 

Grillparzer's  ot\ti  heart  is  laid  bare  when  he  speaks: 

"He  was  an  artist,  but  he  was  also  a  man,  a  man  in 
every  sense,  even  the  highest.  Because  he  shut  himself 
out  from  the  world,  he  was  called  its  enemy;  and  be- 
cause he  shunned  the  display  of  emotion,  he  was  considered 
hard-hearted.  Alas !  he  who  knows  himself  to  be  such 
does  not  flee  the  world.  The  finest  points  are  dulled 
most  easily,  and  they  bend  or  break.  It  is  the  super- 
abundance of  sentiment  that  avoids  sentimental  display. 
He  fled  the  world  because  he  found  within  the  entire 
range  of  his  loving  heart  not  a  single  weapon  with  which 
to  oppose  it.  He  withdrew  from  men  after  having  given 
them  his  all   and  received  nothing  in  return.     He  re- 


42G     GKILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

maihed  solitary  because  he  found  no  one  like  himself. 
But  until  the  last  moment  he  had  a  human  heart  for  all 
men,  a  paternal  one  for  his  kin,  and  all  he  had  and  was 
belonged  to  all  the  world."  Six  months  later  Grillparzer 
composed  a  second  address,  in  similar  strain,  which  was 
delivered  at  the  unveiling  of  Beethoven's  tombstone. 

Grillparzer's  recollections  of  Beethoven  are  supple- 
mented by  the  preserved  records,  on  loose  sheets,  of  his 
remarks  written  down  by  him  while  conversing  with 
the  deaf  composer.  On  one  of  these  sheets  we  find  Grill- 
parzer suggesting  to  him  an  expedient  which,  as  Ehrhard 
remarks,  is  nothing  less  than  the  employment  of  a  Leit- 
motiv in  the  manner  of  Richard  Wagner.  ^^I  have  asked 
myself,"  he  wrote,  "whether  it  would  not  be  advisable  to 
mark  each  appearance  or  action  of  ^Melusine'  by  some 
catching  and  regularly  recurring  melody.  Why  could  not 
the  overture  begin  with  this  melody  ?" 

On  another  occasion  Grillparzer  asks  Beethoven: 
"Are  you  never  going  to  get  married  ?"  Beethoven's  reply 
may  be  guessed.  Grillparzer  rejoins  sarcastically:  "Wom- 
en who  have  minds  have  no  body,  and  those  who  have 
bodies  have  no  mind." 

The  leaves  commemorating  the  last  conversation  that 
took  place  between  the  two  men,  early  in  1826,  reflect  the 
melancholy  to  which  Grillparzer  was  then  a  prey,  shortly 
after  he  broke  off  his  engagement  to  Katharina  Frohlich. 
The  sentences,  brief  and  detached,  are  full  of  meaning. 
"The  censorship  has  killed  me. — One  has  to  emigrate  to 
North  America  if  he  wants  to  give  free  expression  to  his 
thoughts. — I  have  become  stupid. — The  musician  is  not 
subject  to  censorship. — The  literary  men  of  other  countries 


GRILLPARZEE  AND  BEETHOVEN  427 

are  opposed  to  everything  that  comes  from  Austria. — 
In  spite  of  everything  I  love  Austria.  —  At  bottom 
my  works  are  finding  less  and  less  favor. — I  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  a  hypochondriac.  —  My  works  give  me  no 
pleasure.  —  Ah,  if  I  had  the  thousandth  part  of  your 
energy  and  firmness !" 

During  his  last  interview  with  Beethoven  Grillparzer  ex- 
pressed himself  disparagingly  about  Weber,  whose  "Eury- 
anthe,"  he  said,  contained  more  poetry  than  music.  The 
North  Germans,  he  added,  reason  too  much,  and  Weber 
is  merely  a  critic  turned  composer.  He  considered  the 
critical  habit  characteristic  of  the  present  age.  "The  world 
has  lost  its  innocence,  and  without  it  one  cannot  create  or 
enjoy  a  work  of  art."  Ehrhard  surmises  that  in  answer  to 
all  these  despondent  reflections  Beethoven  must  have  ex- 
horted Grillparzer  to  take  courage,  for  on  the  same  day  the 
violinist  Holz  spoke  to  Beethoven  about  Grillparzer's  lack 
of  firmness  and  remarked:  "The  lecture  you  have  given 
him  must  have  made  a  great  impression  on  him.''  Holz 
mentioned  "Melusine"  to  Beethoven  in  terms  of  praise,  but 
the  composer  emphatically  condemned  the  hunters'  chorus. 
Grillparzer's  libretto  subsequently  passed  into  the  hands  of 
the  composer,  Konradin  Kreutzer,  who  set  it  to  music, 
without,  however,  achieving  the  success  scored  by  his 
"Nachtlager  von  Granada." 

With  all  his  appreciation  of  Beethoven,  Grillparzer 
never  yielded  to  him  that  unquestioning  admiration  which 
he  lavished  on  Mozart.  In  one  of  his  semi-autobiographi- 
cal notes,  written  in  1834,  and  intended  for  his  own  eye 
only,  he  remarked:  "In  spite  of  Beethoven's  great 
merits,  which  cannot  be  overestimated,  his  influence  on 


428     GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

art  has  been  unfortunate";   and  he  gives  the  following 
reasons : 

"1.  The  first  and  foremost  musical  prerequisite,  the 
delicacy  and  accuracy  of  the  ear,  suffers  through  his  dar- 
ing combinations  and  his  far  too  frequent  tonal  ranting 
and  roaring. 

"2.  His  ultra-lyric  leaps  transgress  all  conceptions  of 
musical  order  and  unity  to  such  an  extent  as  to  make  it 
impossible  finally  to  take  in  the  whole  of  the  composition. 

"3.  His  frequent  infraction  of  rules  tends  to  make  them 
appear  superfluous,  whereas  rules  are  invaluable  as  the 
result  of  good  sense  and  clear  thought. 

"4.  An  innate  predilection  causes  him  to  substitute 
for  the  sentiment  of  beauty  more  and  more  the  effort  to 
attain  what  is  interesting,  powerful,  violent,  and  intoxi- 
cating— a  change  which,  of  all  the  arts,  music  can  least 
afford  to  undergo." 

In  various  epigrams  Grrillparzer  returns  to  this  search- 
ing analysis.  The  Ninth  Symphony  appears  to  him  con- 
fused and  impenetrable,  but  he  adds:  "Whether  it  please 
me  or  not,  its  glory  is  nevertheless  complete  and  safe,  for 
the  world  knows  that  every  ^Eaust'  has  its  second  part." 
And  when  past  eighty,  he  still  reminded  the  "Beethoven 
enthusiasts":  "Like  you  1  have  held  Beethoven  in  high 
honor,  but  with  this  difference:  Where  your  admiration 
begins,  mine  ends." 

Ehrhard   furnishes   a   luminous   explanation  of  Grill- 
parzer's  peculiar  attitude  toward  Beethoven.  /What  h( 
chiefly  admired  in  Mozart  was  the  caressing  beauty  of  his^ 
melodies  and  his  transparent  perfection  of  form.    He  was 
the  less  inclined  to  overlook  Beethoven's  disregard  of  rules 


GRILLPAEZER  AND  BEETHOVEN  429 

as  he  thought  it  due  to  two  causes :  He  was  deaf  and  he  was 
a  German.  His  deafness,  which  kept  him  apart  from  men, 
had  the  result  of  removing  him  from  the  best  artistic  in- 
fluences of  Vienna.  "The  German  in  Beethoven,"  Ehr- 
hard  remarks,  "on  whom  Vienna  had  imposed  habits  of 
intellectual  refinement,  and  to  whom  it  had  imparted  that 
happy  Austrian  endowment — the  wisdom  to  remain  within 
the  limits  of  a  beautiful  and  concrete  reality — lost  in  his 
solitude  polish  and  discipline." 

G-rillparzer  took  part  in  the  heated  controversy  as  to  the 
respective  merits  of  Italian  and  German  opera,  which  di- 
vided Vienna  into  two  hostile  camps,  and  he  naturally  sided 
with  the  exponents  of  melody  pure  and  simple,  in  other 
words,  with  Rossini  against  Weber.  He  jots  down  this  re- 
mark iii~1319  r~^  think  of  writing  a  counterpart  to 
Lessing's  ^Laokoon' :  ^Rossini,  or  Concerning  the  Limits 
of  Music  and  Poetry.'  I  would  have  to  show  how  absurd 
it  is  to  degrade  music  in  opera  so  as  to  make  it  a  mere  slavej 
to  poetry,  and  to  demand  that  the  former,  in  disregard  of j 
its  proper  sphere,  be  content  to  ape  imperfectly  in  sound 
what  poetry  clearly  expresses  in  thought." 

In  speaking  of  the  different  spheres  of  the  two  arts,  he 
remarks:  "Music  acts  directly  upon  our  senses  and  our\ 
nerves,  touching  reason  but  indirectly,  while  poetry  affects! 
our  emotions  only  through  the  medium  of  reason" ;  and, 
a  year  later,  he  indites,  with  all  his  poetic  warmth,  this 
passage : 

"If  operatic  music  were  intended  merely  to  express 
what  the  poet  has  already  uttered,  it  had  better  be  silent 
altogether.  I  want  to  read  the  words  of  the  poet  alone; 
musical  accompaniment  is  not  meant  to  be  merely  the 


430     GRILLPAEZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DEAMA 

trick  of  a  juggler  wlio  attempts  to  do,  with  manifestly 
insufficient  means,  that  which  some  one  else  has  already 
done  more  simply,  sensibly  and  satisfactorily.  Or  is  it 
the  intention,  perhaps,  to  strengthen  the  impresssion  of  the 
poem  ?  That  may  be  true  of  poems  which  are  no  poems, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  text  of  Italian  operas;  but  then  you 
must  not  touch  truly  poetic  works,  and  stop  the  complaint 
that  only  poetasters  are  willing  to  write  librettos.  But  in 
reality  this  is  not  so.  All  the  arts,  even  though  sprung  from 
a  common  root,  are  strictly  divided  at  their  crowning  sum- 
mits. Where  poetry  ends,  music  begins.  Where  the  poet 
no  longer  finds  words,  there  let  the  musician's  tones  speak. 
0  melody,  who  without  the  aid  of  thought  and  explanatory 
word,  comest  directly  from  Heaven  and  drawest  our  souls 
back  to  Heaven — he  who  truly  knows  thy  power  will  never 
make  music  a  mere  handmaid  of  poetry!  He  may,  per- 
haps, give  precedence  to  the  latter — and  I  believe  poetry 
deserves  the  higher  place,  as  man  takes  rank  above  the 
child — but  he  will  assign  to  the  former  her  own  independ- 
ent realm,  and  will  look  upon  both  as  sisters  and  not  as 
master  and  servant  or,  at  best,  guardian  and  ward.'' 

However  deep  and  permanent  the  influence  which  music 
exercised  on  Grillparzer's  life — there  is  scarcely  one  play 
of  his  which  does  not  betray  his  love  for  it — there  were 
moments  when  he  rebelled  against  the  very  solace  which  /  j 
it  brought  him.  He  analyzed  its  effect  upon  himself,  as  f ; 
he  analyzed — and  at  times  deplored — the  effect  which 
Shakespeare  or  other  great  minds  produced  upon  his  poetic 
sensibilities.  His  diaries  dwell  often  on  these  points. 
During  one  of  the  gloomiest  periods  of  his  life,  while  strug- 
gling with  "Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn,"  he  wrote; 


GRILLPARZER  AND  BEETHOVEX  431 

"What  kept  me  recently  from  poetic  production  was  the 
study  of  music  and  counterpoint.  I  had  begun  it  when 
the  quarrels  concerning  the  performance  of  ^Ottokar/  and 
my  consequent  disgust,  were  at  their  height,  for  the  main 
purpose  of  diverting  my  thoughts  from  a  matter  which 
tormented  me  continuously,  and  threatened  to  make  me  ill. 
I  had  always  had  a  strong  inclination  toward  the  study  of 
counterpoint,  and  I  was  impelled  by  a  desire  to  know  the 
foundation  of  an  art  which,  as  regards  the  emotional  effect 
upon  me,  was  always  a  formidable  rival  of  poetry.  The 
remedy  proved  efficacious.  I  was  equal  to  the  struggle 
with  the  censor,  and  could  brave  the  terrors  of  the  first  per- 
formance. The  misunderstanding  and  intentional  misin- 
terpretation on  the  part  of  the  public  and  the  critics  I  bore 
even  more  easily,  but  at  the  same  time  the  thought  of  tonal 
relations  took  such  a  hold  of  me  that  even  in  my  dreams 
I  was  constantly  busy  with  music  and  counterpoint.  I 
possess  two  qualities,  which  have  sometimes  been  of  con- 
siderable use  to  me,  but  have  even  more  frequently  done 
me  the  greatest  possible  harm.  The  first  is  this :  there  is 
in  my  mind  room  for  but  a  single  subject,  which  for  the 
time  being  swallows  up  everything  else,  and  the  second: 
what  I  have  once  begun,  as  the  result  of  firm  resolve,  I 
abandon  only  with  the  extremest  reluctance.  It  was  owing 
to  the  first  quality  that  music  soon  engrossed  me  to  the 
exclusion  of  everything  else,  while  on  account  of  the  second 
I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  change  my  extraordinary 
method  of  studying.  I  persevered  in  the  hope  of  being 
able  to  find  time  for  music  between  my  other  occupa- 
tions— a  hope  that  was  never  realized.  Finally,  from 
fear   of   too   constant   a   preoccupation,    I   became   more 


432     GEILLPAKZEE  AND  THE  AUSTEIAN  DRAMA 

lax  in  my  methods,  and  thus  I  lost  the  fruits  of  my 
varied  efforts/' 

We  have  Hanslick's  testimony  to  the  genuineness  of 
Grillparzer's  musical  talent.  Of  the  three  compositions 
which  Katharina  Frohlich  showed  him — musical  settings 
of  Horace's  ode  "Integer  vitae  scelerisque  purus"  and  of 
Heine's  "Du  schones  Schiffermadchen/'  and  a  song  en- 
titled "Life  is  strife,  a  struggle  without  cessation" — 
Hanslick  wrote:  "These  compositions  attest  Grillparzer's 
musical  knowledge  and  fine  musical  feeling.  They  prove, 
in  their  simplicity  and  correctness,  that  the  great  poet  not 
only  knew  how  to  sing  inspired  hymns  to  music,  but  that 
he  also  practised  the  art  like  an  artist." 


XXIII 


CONCLUSION 


Gbillpabzee's  personality  exercised  a  singular  fascina- 
tion over  all  who  came  in  close  contact  with  him.  In  his 
youth  he  was  the  favorite  of  the  best  social  circles 
of  Vienna.  The  novelist  Caroline  Pichler,  whose  home 
was  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century  a  rendezvous  of 
the  chosen  spirits  of  the  city,  describes  his  appearance  in 
1817  as  follows: 

"At  last  Schreyvogel  introduced  Grillparzer  to  us.  I 
shall  never  forget  that  evening,  nor  the  favorable  impres- 
sion which  he  produced  upon  all.  He  could  not  be  called 
good-looking,  but  his  slender  figure,  of  more  than  middle 
height,  his  fine  blue  eyes,  which  gave  an  expression  of 
kindness  and  depth  to  his  pale  features,  and  a  wealth  of 
auburn  hair,  all  combined  to  give  him  an  appearance 
which  one  could  not  easily  forget,  even  if  the  treasures  of 
his  highly  cultivated  mind  and  noble  soul  had  not  so  un- 
mistakably manifested  themselves  in  everything  he  did  and 
said.  Such  was  the  general  impression  in  our  little  circle. 
Face  to  face  with  the  handsome  Oehlenschlaeger,*  Grill- 
parzer attracted  everybody  by  the  stamp  of  his  intellect." 

More  than  one  beautiful  and  gifted  woman  came  under 
his  spell.  Female  charms  inspired  Grillparzer  as  they  had 
inspired  Goethe,  and  if  there  are  in  the  case  of  the  Vienna 
poet  no  such  glowing  effusions  on  record  as  the  sage  of 

*The  famous  Danish  dramatist,  who  was  then  visiting  Vienna. 


434    GRILLPARZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

Weimar  addressed  to  Frau  von  Stein,  we  find  in  his  diaries 
not  a  few  passages  pointing  to  the  depth  of  his  affection 
for  Charlotte  von  Paumgarten  and  Marie  Daffinger,  who 
lent  their  traits  to  Medea  and  Hero.  We  have  in  his 
diaries  but  the  indirect  self-revelations  of  a  genius  ever 
ready  to  magnify  his  human  frailties,  but  who  at  the  same 
time  deprecated  the  sickly  sentimentality  which  takes  a 
greater  interest  in  the  author's  person  than  in  his  writings. 
A  curious  incident  in  Grillparzer's  life,  related  at  length 
in  his  diaries,  refers  to  the  story  of  a  young  girl,  Marie 
von  Piquot,  who,  unknown  to  the  poet,  pined  away  in  a 
hopeless  passion  for  him,  which  was  only  disclosed  to  her 
parents  in  her  touching  testament. 

Grillparzer's  lack  of  decision  in  literary  matters  is  at- 
tested by  the  many  unfinished  projects  and  sketches  found 
among  his  papers.  The  most  important  of  these  frag- 
ments date  from  the  beginnings  of  his  literary  career  and 
reveal  extraordinary  dramatic  precocity  and  historical 
knowledge.  At  the  age  of  seventeen,  he  wrote  two  acts  and 
pSLit  of  the  third  of  a  play  entitled  "Kobert,  Herzog  von 
der  Normandie" ;  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  two  acts  of  "Al- 
fred der  Grosse"  and  one  act  of  "Spartakus."  The 
promise  of  these  early  productions  is  almost  a^  remark- 
able as  the  actual  achievement  of  Lope's  "Verdadero 
Amante,"  written  at  the  age  of  fourteen  or  fifteen.  Grill- 
parzer  roamed  over  the  eritire  field  of  history  in  search 
of  plots  and  characters,  and  he  accumulated  during  his 
life  a  mass  of  plans  and  suggestions  for  future  elabora- 
tion equal  to  that  found  in  Hawthorne's  notebooks. 
Oliver  Cromwell  appears  in  a  "Lucretia  Creinwill," 
begun  at  the  age  of  sixteen;  Henry  II.  of  England  in  a 

) 


CONCLUSION  435 

"Rosamunde  Clifford" ;  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  in  a  fragment 
entitled  ''Die  Pazzi,"  dating  from  1812 ;  Henry  lY.  of 
France  in  a  delightfully  humorous  first  act  of  ''Heinrich 
der  Vierte'-'  (1813)  ;  and  Biblical  history,  as  well  as  the 
history  of  Eome,  was  ransacked  by  him  for  comprehensive 
dramatic  plans. 

Compared  with  the  wealth  of  his  ideas  and  the  extent  of 
his  studies,  the  total  of  Grillparzer's  dramatic  achieve- 
ment appears  quantitatively  small.  But  he  threw  all  the 
power  of  his  genius  into  every  one  of  his  matured  plays. 
He  left  to  the  world,  aside  from  his  "Ahnfrau"  and  ''Das 
Leben  ein  Traum,"  whose  place  in  literature  is  still  unde- 
termined, ten  dramatic  works  of  the  first  rank — "Sappho," 
"Das  goldene  Vliess,"  "Konig  Ottokars  Gliick  und 
Ende,"  "Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn,"  "Des  Meeres 
und  der  Liebe  Wellen,"  "Weh  dem,  der  lugt!" 
"Libussa,"  "Esther,"  "Ein  Bruderzwist  in  Habsburg" 
and  "Die  Jiidin  von  Toledo."  Nothing  furnishes  more 
convincing  proof  of  the  intrinsic  greatness  of  all  these 
works  than  the  disagreement  of  the  foremost  critics  as  to 
which  of  them  is  the  greatest.  Goedeke  would  award 
the  palm  to  "Medea."  He  says  of  the  heroine :  "Gigantic 
as  Grillparzer's  Medea  is,  she  remains  within  the  bounds 
of  humanity,  and  in  this  respect  throws  all  the  Medeas 
of  the  tragic  stage  of  ancient  and  modern  times  into 
the  shade."  Volkelt  finds  greater  power  in  the  diction 
of  "Ein  treuer  Diener  seines  Herrn"  than  in  that  of  any 
of  the  other  dramas.  Scherer  calls  Rudolph  II.  in  "Ein 
Bruderzwist  in  Habsburg"  an  "unsurpassable  master- 
piece." Eaulhammer  speaks  of  certain  scenes  in  "Die 
Jiidin  von  Toledo"  as  among  the  best  in  German  litera- 


-^^i 


4M    GRILLPAEZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

ture.  O.  E.  Lessing,  in  characterizing  "Konig  Ottokars 
Gliick  und  Ende/'  places  Grillparzer,  as  we  have  seen, 
above  Schiller.  Sauer  lavishes  the  highest  praise  on  the 
exquisite  humor  of  "Weh  dem,  der  liigt,"  and  adds:  ^'Its 
fundamental  depth  of  thought,  the  nobility  of  its  verse  and 
its  fantastic  and  fairy-like  execution,  give  it  a  place  of  its 
own  in  our  literature  akin  to  that  occupied  by  Shake- 
speare's fairy  plays."  Ehrhard  writes  of  "Libussa" : 
^ 'Freed  from  the  tyranny  of  the  theatre,  Grillparzer  gave 
full  scope  to  his  inspiration.  With  a  magnificent  sweep 
of  his  wings,  he  rose  to  the  summits  where  he  encountered 
bhe  author  of  Taust.'  "  On  the  whole,  popular  approval 
I  land  critical  consensus  alike  point  to  "Des  Meeres  und  der 
Liebe  Wellen"  as  Grillparzer's  most  precious  legacy. 

One  transcendent  merit  is  common  to  all  his  plays — an 
artistic  perfection  which  manifests  itself  alike  in  the  con- 
ception of  the  plot,  in  exposition  and  development,  the 
accuracy  of  character  drawing,  and  in  the  thousand  deli- 
cate, often  startling,  touches  which,  in  a  few  simple  words, 
reveal  the  inmost  soul.  'No  one  has  depicted  the  half- 
unconscious  awakening  of  love  vdth  such  naturalness  and 
power.  "In  Grillparzer's  dramas,"  says  Volkelt,  "love  as- 
sumes, by  the  suddenness  and  impetuosity  of  its  origin, 
something  demoniac  and  irresistible." 

Various  critics  have  attempted  to  account  for  Grill- 
parzer's extraordinary  skill  in  depicting  female  characters 
by  dwelling  on  the  feminine  traits  of  his  own  personality ; 
but  the  extraordinary  diversity  of  his  creations  defies  such 
feeble  efforts  to  explain  the  secret  of  his  genius.  Emil 
Reich  has  justly  said,  in  defending  him  against  the  idle 
charge  that  his  dramas  lack  virility  and  too  pointedly 


CONCLUSION  437 

preach  tlie  gospel  of  peaceful  renunciation:  "Baseless  in- 
deed is  the  reproach  that,  however  valuable  his  dramas 
may  be  from  an  aesthetic  point  of  view,  Grillparzer  leaves 
our  ethical  craving  unsatisfied."  He  and  other  discerning 
students  of  Grillparzer  have  pointed  to  the  list  of  his  manly 
heroes — his  Eudolph,  Leon,  Primislaus,  Bankban — as  the 
most  convincing  proof  that,  dramatically  as  well  as  eth- 
ically, he  placed  nobility  of  action  above  passive  resigna- 
tion. And  the  poet  himself  wrote  in  his  diary :  "It  is  the 
duty  of  every  one  to  devote  himself  to  the  service  of 
mankind  with  whatever  powers  he  may  possess;  we  are 
here  to  do  and  to  be  useful. '^ 

It  would  be  misjudging  the  full  significance  of  Grill- 
parzer's  works  not  to  recognize  in  them  the  character 
joined  to  the  genius — the  man  who,  oppressed  by  nature 
with  morbid  traits  which  had  proved  fatal  to  mother  and 
brother,  fought  manfully  against  their  blighting  influence ; 
who,  through  poverty  and  persecution,  maintained  his  lofty 
pride  and  his  disdain  of  ignoble  means  of  winning  rank 
and  recognition ;  who  devoted  the  meagre  returns  of  his  pen 
to  the  support  of  unworthy  relatives;  whose  intense  Aus- 
trian patriotism  never  blinded  him  to  the  faults  of  his  com- 
patriots, and  who  welcomed  light  and  inspiration  from  the 
greater  fatherland  which  shut  its  doors  to  him ;  whose  con- 
servatism found  no  room  for  political  or  religious  bigotry ; 
who  despised  the  worship  of  nationality  because  he  loved  \  ^^^  f> 
humanity;  whose  views  of  revolutionary  movements  and  '  "  ^ 
whose  distrust  of  salvation  through  violence  arose  from 
his  conviction  of  the  value  of  self-restraint;  who,  sur- 
rounded by  levity  and  opposed  by  folly,  found  silent  solace 
in  gathering  wisdom  from  the  stores  of  the  past,  hoping 


438     GRILLPAKZEE  AISTD  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

to  retain,  as  he  wrote,  the  ^ ^desire  to  learn  until  two  hours 
before  death."  'Rov  were  the  trials  of  his  literary  life 
merely  such  as  have  beset  the  paths  of  so  many  men  of 
genius;  it  was  his  peculiar  fate  to  be  most  severely  criti- 
cised where  he  knew  he  deserved  warmest  praise.  Emil 
Reich  aptly  remarks :  "Where  every  other  poet  would  have 
met  with  enthusiastic  approval,  there  always  was  sure  to 
arise  some  objection  to  his  works,  entirely  unconnected 
with  their  nature  or  but  remotely  bearing  on  their  subject, 
which  deprived  him  of  the  full  recognition  due  him." 
Grillparzer  was,  in  the  words  of  Volkelt,  "the  first  to  place 
before  the  Austrians,  on  the  stage,  in  masterly  fashion,  the 
history  of  their  country,  and  yet  he  was  treated  coolly  and 
disdainfully,  and  it  was  precisely  his  patriotic  plays  that 
met  with  least  popular  appreciation." 

But  when  every  allowance  has  been  made  for  the  disap- 
pointments of  his  life,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  a  more 
generous  meed  of  outward  success  in  his  own  fatherland, 
or  a  fuller  recognition  of  his  merits  throughout  the  literary 
world,  would  have  essentially  modified  his  inward  nature, 
or  in  any  way  affected  the  quality  of  his  art.  The  defects 
of  his  character  were  those  of  his  ancestors,  as  well  as 
those  of  his  time,  while  his  genius  was  his  own,  and  rose 
superior  to  his  inheritance  and  his  surroundings.  No  one, 
as  we  have  seen,  could  have  placed  a  juster  estimate  than 
he  did  on  the  value  of  unbiassed  public  criticism,  and  he 
searchingly  applied  his  keenest  critical  powers  to  his  own 
works ;  but  where  he  knew  that  his  verdict  was  wiser  than 
that  of  the  public,  he  was  quite  content  to  leave  the  final 
decision  to  posterity.  He  wrote,  first  and  last,  to  please 
himself,  and  in  obedience  to  his  literary  conscience.     And 


CONCLUSIOX  439 

how  exacting  were  the  demands  of  his  poetic  nature,  how 
sure  and  steady  and  chaste  the  tracings  of  that  artistic 
hand  that  wrought  in  silent  perfection  when  his  early  tri- 
umphs seemed  forgotten  and  no  one  could  foretell  his 
glorious  resurrection  in  old  age ! 

Much  critical  ingenuity  has  been  spent  in  the  attempt  to 
determine  the  final  rank  which  Grillparzer  is  destined  to- 
occupy  among  the  world's  great  dramatists.     He  has  been- 
assigned  to  one  literary  school  and  another,  and  the  origin 
of  various  modern  intellectual  movements  has  been  traced 
to  his  influence.    He  has  been  called  the  precursor  of  pres- 
ent-day  realism,   and  characterized  as   "the   last   of  the 
classics  and  the  first  of  the  moderns."    But  all  his  critics, 
whatever  their  point  of  view,  have  acknowledged  the  po- 
tency of  his  unique  creations,  that  weave  their  spell  about 
us,  whether  groping  in  dreamy  irresolution  or  leaping  into  \ 
fiery  passion.    Grillparzer  himself,  with  his  sane  and  clear    I 
recognition  of  his  merits,  has  claimed  a  place  in  German 
literature  next  to  Goethe  and  Schiller,  and  posterity  has    j 
fully  ratified  this  claim.     Prof.  Jakob  Minor,  in  his  ad-  / 
dress  at  the  centenary  of  Grillparzer' s  birth,  has  truly  ' 
said :  "German  literature  possesses  no  other  dramatic  poet 
in  whose  works  there  is  such  complete  accord  between  sub- 
stance and  form,  between  poetic  power  and  dramatic  re- 
quirement.    IsTo  one  else  has  so  consistently  refused  to 
make  the  slightest  concession  to  the  claims  of  the  stage 
and  the  art  of  the  actor." 

It  was  Grillparzer's  absolute  freedom  from  scholastic  -^ 
precept  and  hoary  tradition  that  enabled  him  to  create 
dramatic  types  of  unsurpassed  originality.    In  the  breadth 
of  his  poetic  horizon,  as  well  as  in  depth  of  intellectual 


in 


440     GRILLPAKZER  AND  THE  AUSTRIAN  DRAMA 

vision,   he  unquestionably   ranks,    among  dramatists,   of 

11  whatever  country,  next  to  Goethe,  "The  distinction  of  a 
poet,*'  says  Santayana,  "the  dignity  and  humanity  of  his 
thought,  can  be  measured  by  nothing,  perhaps,  so  well  as  by 
the  diameter  of  the  world  in  which  he  lives.''  Grillparzer 
created  a  vast  realm  of  pure  poesy  and  noble  thought,  and 
thither  he  carries  with  him  spectator  and  reader — sufficient 
reward  and  glory  for  one  who  possessed,  to  borrow  Morley's 
language  as  applied  to  Goethe,  "a  proud  and  collected  soul, 
loftily  following  its  own  inner  aim." 

THE    END 


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